The Antic Disposition
by TheHouseWitch
Summary: A murderer is at large in New Jersey. When he strikes close to Gregory House's heart he is forced into his twisted world. Soon he comes to realize that even he may not be able to solve this puzzle. Rated M for graphic descriptions. AU season 8.
1. Prologue

**The Antic Disposition**

_**Please read the following: **_

**Disclaimer**: **No copyright infringement intended. Everything belongs to its respectable owners. Every character that is not the creation of David Shore and co. are mine, and using them for any purpose is violation against my authorship**.

This story is rated M for a reason. If you are sensitive to adult themes, and detailed descriptions of violence and crime I strongly suggest being careful when you read this story.

I am neither a police officer nor a medical doctor. Every description of police investigation, and professional terms, including medical terminologies come from research. If there are any errors I do apologize in advance.

Events, and characters that come across are fiction; any resemblance is purely coincidental.

**Timeline:** This is set in the beginning of season 8, the rest of the season will be totally diregarded.

**Author's note:** Welcome to The Antic Disposition.

I'm going to use this opportunity to write a little note regarding this story. I won't bother you with long author's notes in the upcoming chapters so you will be able to go straight to the story.

This story came gradually to being, and has been in the making for quite a while. Mostly my inspiration came from the connection between Sherlock Holmes and House, and I felt like that connection could be brought so much further, and so the idea of House getting involved with a crime investigation was born. I have always been fascinated with crime investiagtion, and I think it's very interesting to put the characters into a situation they wouldn't have been put on the show.

The occurrences that come across in this story are highly unusual when it comes to the House universe, but this is the world of fan fiction and I had a great time thinking up the plot for this story. Some things might appear a little confusing at first, but things will clear up gradually.

I also want to add that this story includes several other characters. This story has a big cast, and I hope you like the additional characters as much as I've enjoyed creating them.

The title is from Shakespeare. If you're familiar with Shakespeare's work you might recognize this wording from act 1 in Hamlet. For those of you who don't know antic means bizarre, or threatening. Essentially it means to madness or to act crazy.

I also want to give my thanks to _GratefulInsomniac _for her thoughts and encouragement.

Buckle your seatbelts, and enjoy the ride.

-HW

* * *

_For where the instrument of intelligence is added to brute power and evil will, mankind is powerless in its own defense. (_-Dante Alighieri)

_****__Prologue_

The cold air hit his lungs with its sharp teeth as he half ran, half limped down the forest floor. The darkness swarmed around him, and the menacing trees surrounding him made it difficult for him to follow the road, but he didn't care. The anger flared through his body like a fuel, and he managed to ignore the agonizing pain in his leg. His mind was set on one thing, and every sense of pain or logic disappeared as he made his way through the darkness.

His body was beat; the actions of the past twenty-four hours were starting to take a hold on him. His eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep, and his clothes were ripped and torn, his white shirt tainted dark red where the open wound bled freely. But even though his body was weary his mind was completely alert. Every fiber of his being was set on the chase; his clouded mind neglected every sense of control over his mind and body as he stormed after the shadow.

He could no longer see the black form of the man he was chasing, but he knew that he was somewhere out there in the darkness of the forest. As he ran there was only one thought that ran through his mind; _she's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead. _

He chanted those words over and over in his mind, refusing to believe the alternative possibility. She had to be alive, he couldn't stand the thought of her death, and he sure wasn't going to lose her. And so he kept chanting those words to convince his ever-rational mind that it wasn't true. He couldn't afford to think of other options. The thought of her body lying somewhere, cold, dead and grey, molested by the monster, was too much for him to bear, and that made his anger even more profound and flaring.

After everything they had been through he couldn't fathom the idea that it would end like this. She couldn't die hating him; he couldn't let her die with the last thought of him as the pill popping drug addict that had ruined her life.

Right now he didn't care about anything except to find her alive.

The patch of trees suddenly cleared and he ran into a meadow. The frozen ground cracked under each step. His heart hammered in his chest, and his frantic breaths created small clouds in the dry and cold air. His head turned from side to side in search for the dark shadow he had been chasing, the person that was responsible for everything, the person that was the key to her.

He couldn't see far in the darkness, the only light coming from the white light from the full moon, and he could feel the cold fear snake through him menacingly. He tightened his grip on his cane and raised it few inches from the ground so he could be ready if he needed protection.

He heard rustling of leaves behind him and turned around abruptly, swinging the cane in front of him. But there was no one in sight; there was only the dark and empty road ahead.

He heard the sound before he felt the banging pain when a heavy object crashed against his skull. He cried out in pain, his body fell down on the forest floor forcefully. Darkness swarmed before his vision, and the pain sprang through his body like a bullet. His leg was screaming, and his head was throbbing.

His visage cleared slightly, and he saw stars glint in the night sky above him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, then a dark figure hovered above him.

He couldn't see his face, which was masked and hidden mostly by a dark hood. Any strength in his body left him, and the darkness started to overtake his consciousness. He felt another pang in his left side, but it was dull, and he was already under the deep haze of unconsciousness. He tried to move but the darkness overtook him until he fell into the dark abyss.

The last thought that ran through his mind was the image of her, and how much he had failed her.

* * *

Miles away in a dark room she lay in a bundle on the cold concrete floor, whispering his name in the night, hoping that he would come and save her.

Her thin arms embraced her frail body tightly. Fresh tears ran down her dirty cheeks in grey patterns. Her blue eyes stared at the jarred door. She had long stopped banging on it. It was no use. She didn't know how long she had stayed in that room, but it felt like eternity. She had long stopped feeling bothered by the hunger, or the cold floor under her body. She had long stopped banging on the door crying for him to release her, because she knew that it wouldn't change anything.

She was going to die.

Sobs shook through her body by the unfair truth. She had hoped, and prayed that he would come to her, that he would save her, but she knew that he wouldn't come. He probably didn't even know that she had disappeared. Yet, she still clung to the memory of him, and the safety she had felt when she lay in his arms, it was the only memory of safety she could conjure up and she tried with every might to hold on to that. But the stabbing truth was that she wasn't going to be saved. She had been gone for too long, and when they would find her she would be a rotting corpse.

"I'm going to die." She whispered into the darkness.

She bundled herself tighter together, her bruised and peeling hands were still red after her latest attempt of escape, but she was done now, finished.

She buried her head deeper into her arms and cried softly, for the cruelty of the world, and the man that had stolen her happiness away forever. But mostly her thoughts went to him, the man who, ironically, had taken away her trust, and her faith in him. He had done inexcusable things to her, but still her whole being believed that if there was anyone who would be clever enough, or determined enough to find her, then it would be _him_.

Foolishly she hoped that he would barge in through the doors, sweep her in his strong arms and tell her that everything would be okay.

She closed her eyes and with one last whisper of his name she allowed sleep to carry her into dreams of him.

In her sleep she breathed out his name in a soft breath, as if she was calling him to her.

But he would never come.

* * *

**_To Be Continued _**


	2. In my mind's eye

-**_Chapter One_**-

_I**n My Mind's Eye**_

_And thus I clothe my naked villainy._

_With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ;_

_And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. (_-William Shakespeare)

_Six Months Earlier_

_Princeton, New Jersey. _

He could feel it coming, like a beast in the night, lurking; waiting; watching.

He had been watching her, waiting for the right moment. He could feel the beast within him getting restless, but he was careful to keep calm, there was no need to be hasty.

His pale, long fingers clutched the steering wheel firmly. The fat moon cascaded on his bone white skin, his dark eyes observing the scene before him. He felt like an animal in the night, watching his innocent prey while he waited in the shadows, finding the perfect moment to strike. When he would finally find the right moment she would be unprepared and defenseless.

He sat in the darkness of his black SUV. His burning eyes were fixated on the house across the street. Her home was in a quiet neighborhood in the outskirts of town, far enough from _him. _

He could see her lean frame moving from the kitchen and to the living room, one hand holding a steaming cup of tea, the other a book. She sat down in a comfortable chair and opened the book, not even aware that someone was watching her. He watched her flip lazily through the pages, licking her thumb with every page. But even though she seemed engrossed in the book, he could see her anxiety even from across the street. From time to time her eyes would drift upwards, then they would twitch sideways to the window she was sitting by. Her lips were drawn tightly together, and her eyebrows creased.

She was afraid.

He could smell fear from miles away, and he could tell, merely by sitting there, that she was horrified. Too bad that she was horrified of the wrong person, but soon. Yes, soon she would realize that the doctor was the last person she should be afraid of, now that he was there, watching her, itching to get closer to her.

Soon she shut the book, and stood up from her chair. It seemed like she was carelessly moving from room to room, but he knew that she was checking, making sure that everything was all right, that every window was firmly locked, and the security system was set. Finally she settled on the couch and picked up a file from the coffee table.

He saw her exhale and tilt her head upwards in frustration, probably chastising her self for acting so paranoid. She bit her lip and glanced at a folded letter on the table, she picked it up slowly but didn't read it; she had already read it too many times to count, puzzling over its contents and what it meant. That made his heart flutter with glee. It was all about trust, and when they took the bait he would strike.

He smiled coldly and ran his hand to the heavy object beside him, his fingers tingled with excitement, but he could wait a little longer. He grasped the handle and raised it up to eyelevel; he touched the tip of the cold steel with his finger, sliding it to the tip. It was sharp; he would be able to slice through his finger easily. The image of that blade against her pale, pulsing neck made him itch in his skin. His heart thumped with anticipation for the moment to come. He watched her turn off the lights and walk into her bedroom, unaware that she was being watched.

He smirked and started the car. It would take time for her to fall asleep and he needed time to prepare. He drove past the landmarks of the town and followed the small traffic until he took a turn down a deserted road. He parked the SUV by the road, and stepped out into the fresh air. The dark sky hovered above him the tiny little stars twinkling. He walked around his car and opened the trunk picking out a tin trashcan and put it firmly on the ground. Then he dumped a black leather bag on the ground and closed the trunk. He bent down and unzipped the bag and took out a bundle of hundred dollar bills and traced his finger over the edge of the paper, flipping it between his fingers. Carelessly he threw it into the tin bin. He stood up and grabbed the handles on the bag and flipped it over the bin; the money fell into it with a loud thud. The scrutinizing face of Benjamin Franklin stared back at him from the dry paper. When he had emptied the bag he threw it on the ground, and picked up a matchbox from the pocket of his jacket. He slid the lid off and took a single match out and with one sweep he lit it up then he threw the lit up match into the bin. The fire circled around the paper, and in few seconds it had engulfed the entire interior of the bin. The red and yellow glow of the flames shone in the almost black orbs of his eyes making them appear red. A twisted smile spread on his thin, pale lips.

They were fools thinking they could outsmart him. He didn't want their filth and corruption. He was better than that, and they would pay for their ignorance. He watched the bills turn into crumble of dust, and thought with glee about the wonderful destruction he was about to make. But he couldn't think about them now, he would kill her soon enough and then they would feel the burn of his wrath. But now he had another task. His pray would soon fall asleep, and then he would strike. When he would be finished with her, the doctor would finally pay. They would all pay.

He stepped into the car and drove into the darkness, the burning flames blazing up, the smoke turning up to the sky, the bills wuthering to dust.

* * *

In the City of New York the prestigious attorney Maximilian Archibald sat in a lavish office chair and scribbled furiously on a thick document. His blue eyes darted from line to line, his expression perturbing and jittery.

He finally finished and scribbled down his signature quickly. He tore off his reading glasses and put them on the magnificent mahogany desk. He rubbed his eyes wearily and sighed. He lowered his hands carefully on the table, and observed the letter one more time before picking it up and slowly he put the paper into the thick brown envelope and sealed it carefully.

A beeping of his cell phone made him jump out of his almost trance like state of mind. He picked up the phone; his blue eyes darted over the screen quickly. His eyes closed shut; he exhaled shakily and felt the feeling of relief and dread mix up within him.

He had taken the bait.

The money had been removed from his account, which meant that he would finally accomplish what he aimed for.

He stood up carefully and walked across the lavish study. He walked up to a closed safe, opened the lock and put the envelope inside. He made sure to lock it securely away.

He poured himself a glass of brandy and strolled over to the huge window that overlooked the city. He took a sip from the crystal glass, allowing the bronze liquid to roam in his mouth.

He used to be a man with great appreciation for such material things as good wine, art, and cars, but now when he thought about the events of the last year, and the losses and pain he had to succumb, he could feel that he didn't care about those things anymore. He had lost one of the most precious things in the world, and he realized that he had appreciated all the wrong things in life.

He really didn't care whether this would all mean the end of him, but he sure was not going to allow that son of a bitch to take away what mattered most to him. That message was the first step, if only he could be sure that his plan would proceed after his passing. He was sure that she would be smart enough to understand, but he wasn't sure whether she would be able to do this alone. It was enough that one of his daughters was in danger. Yes, she would be fine. Elizabeth was smart, and he knew that she would follow his bidding.

He stared at the tiny lights below, thinking about the future of his beloved daughter. He wished that it wouldn't come to this, but the secret couldn't die with him. She was the last chance.

He took another sip of the golden liquid, and watched the city lights twinkle in the darkness of the night.

This would be the end of it all. He would make sure of that, even if it would take away his own life.


	3. Projections

A/N: First of all I want to thank the people who have reviewed. I know that this is very different and confusing right now, but I hope that this chapter will both enlighten you and ewoke more questions as well. I wanted to upload this because I already wrote it, and this is more House centered. I hope you'll enjoy it.

* * *

**-Chapter Two-**

**Projections**

The sun was shining brightly in the pale blue cloudless sky; he could feel the soft caress of the warm breeze on his cheek, and he could hear the sound of the sea hitting the shore in the distance. He looked around, on the white sand that seemed to stretch on endlessly, and the brilliantly blue sea by the horizon. He was wearing loose fitting shirt and pants that swayed with the breeze. He took a step forward, the fine sand felt like the softest cotton under his bare feet. He expected to feel the familiar searing pain shoot up his leg, but it didn't come. He was completely pain free. In amazement he looked down to see if this was real, it _felt _real. He took another step and laughed out loud. He took another step, and another until he was in a full sprint. He put his hands in the air and ran down the beach, feeling for the first time in years completely free. He was free from pain, and the ache that had been his constant companion for too long. He ran until he couldn't take it anymore and stopped by the shore. The sea had never been more beautiful, the light from the sun reflecting in little diamonds on the blue green surface, the color reminded him of something, something he couldn't quite place. But it was the most beautiful he had ever seen in his life. He dipped a toe into the perfect blue. It felt warm against his skin so he allowed the rest of the foot into the warm water. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips, softening his raw features.

"House!"

The ringing sound felt sweet in his ears, like the finest music. He turned around and saw her standing there, more beautiful than ever. She was wearing a white dress that hugged her curves; her dark curls touched her creamy shoulders flatteringly. She waved to him and he waved back in awe. His eyes stayed glued on her while she started to run to him, smiling and laughing. The dress swayed around her frame when she ran, kissing her knees as she went. She stopped by his side, her smile broadening.

"House." She muttered. He didn't say anything; instead he touched her cheek with a feather light touch. Her eyes smiled back, and he remembered now of what the sea reminded him. The color was nearly identical to her eyes, which sparkled with so much love and adoration that he could barely catch his breath under their gaze. She gave him a coy smile when he touched her. This felt unreal to him, yet her skin couldn't feel more real under his hand. He leaned towards her, and touched her lips with his smoothly. It felt sweet, pure and so…right.

His heart fluttered with glee, and he felt complete. He could feel her hand on the base of his neck dragging him closer to her to deepen the kiss. They drifted apart for air, her eyes still closed.

"Open your eyes." He told her. She obeyed and his sky blue ones met her magnificent ones, their color ever-changing, sometimes bending towards green like they were now, so beautiful.

He gave her a smile and kissed her again with more passion then before. She was the one to end it and laughed when she saw his disappointed gaze.

"I love you." She said, the sweet words warming the roots of his heart. It didn't feel like she was saying it for the first time, it felt like she had said those words to him forever.

"I love you too." He heard himself say. She smiled at him and took his hand in hers and dragged him with her towards the sparkling water. She laughed heartily and bent down to spray water at him. He could feel the laughter bubble in his throat as he too splashed water at her, she squealed and tried to dodge away but he was quicker and caught her hand in his, dragging her into his embrace. Their wet bodies clashed together, and in a single moment they were on the ground in a fit of giggles.

A shadow passed over them, their laughter stopped abruptly and they gazed at the sky that had turned an ugly sheen of grey, clouding the bright and warm sun. Thunder erupted in the distance with menacing force.

He stood up abruptly and cried out from the blinding pain that shot up his leg, he heard her call from the distance, but his eyes were blurry from his tears of pain. He managed to focus on his surroundings, but the darkness was overpowering.

"House." He heard her frightened voice in the distance. He tried to stand up, but he couldn't, the pain was too much. He could see her frame in the distance, the shadow encircling her tiny frame.

"Cuddy." He yelled, his hand reaching out to her, but she was too far away.

"House." Her strangled cry came from the distance, but he couldn't see her. His vision started to blur, and the darkness began to surround him. He felt hopeless, he couldn't breathe, the darkness was strangling him. He tried to move, but the pain was unbearable.

"Cuddy…" He murmured through dry lips.

He didn't get an answer, and the darkness overpowered him. The soft sand turned into hard concrete, and the once blue sea became a solid grey wall surrounding his now naked form. He couldn't move, and he couldn't hear. His skin was cold and pale, and he felt like all hope had disappeared forever into the deep abyss. There was no way out.

"Cuddy." He said weakly. He didn't expect any answer; she was long gone. He cradled up in a bundle on the cold floor, shielding himself away from the shame and the cold.

"Cuddy!"

House's eyes shot open from the sound of his scream. His heart hammered in his chest; cold sweat clung to his t-shirt. He panted heavily still in the haze of sleep. His hand ran down his thigh were the gaping hole in his leg throbbed. He rubbed slowly the soft spot, hissing in pain. His eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and he spotted the pill bottle on his nightstand. Shakily he opened the lid and shook the plastic bottle. Three white pills falling into his palm. He popped the pills into his mouth and dry swallowed them easily. He kept massaging his leg, waiting for the pills to affect on the pain.

He still felt shaky after the dream, his mind tried to grasp the details that were slowly drifting away with every waking moment. He still remembered the horrible pain, and his naked body on the cold floor, but that hadn't been the worst thing. The memory of _her _was burned into his mind, and worse the bittersweet feeling of her lips on his, and the sheer joy he had felt to have her by his side, and the promise of love…

Oh God. Why was he dreaming of Cuddy of all things?

He fell back on the soft mattress, lying spread eagle, his arms outstretched, the fabric of the white sheets feeling cold against his exposed skin. After spending a whole year lying on a mattress that was as hard as the floor in his cell, he welcomed his own bed with gratitude. Still, he couldn't sleep.

He glanced sideways at the clock on his nightstand, and groaned out loud, it was only 4:00 a.m. He tried to close his eyes and fall asleep again, but the dull ache in his leg was strong enough to keep him awake. He had been feeling unusually much amount of pain these past days.

He felt the drumming of his heart settle into a normal rhythm and sighed heavily.

The image of _her _was burned behind his eyelids and he couldn't shake the feeling of the dream away. He couldn't quite fathom why he was dreaming of _her. _

Even though the memory of her was forever with him, and from time to time he even dared to conjure up precious memories of her, he usually tried to stifle those memories, the pain of losing her was still fresh. It was as if she had ripped a piece of him with her and the memories of her were the burning reminder of the wounding pain.

The image of her would forever be branded to his brain; the soft curve of her hips, the creamy skin of her neck, her lips against his in a soft kiss-

_House stop it right there._

He couldn't live in a dream world of her. She was gone, and he had moved on. Or so he tried to convince himself.

He shook his head trying to clear his mind from everything Cuddy, but that was easier said than done. He closed his eyes, trying to drift his mind from any thoughts of the woman that had caught his heart so fully. He started to count sheep in his mind, but that didn't work when the sheep's heads started to turn into Cuddy's, which would have been amusing at any given time if he wasn't trying so hard to think of anything else but her. He started to name every muscle in the human body, but her name started to pop up between the Latin names. He gave up after a lame attempt of naming every disease in the book; it had worked until he reached the C's, then everything started to go downhill. He groaned and opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling in frustration.

He was more and more annoyed with himself for allowing his emotions to overtake him. He was surprised that he had let them go so far, he rarely thought about her these days.

Eleven months, eleven months of buried memories and failed attempts to forget the woman that had been a companion in his life for more years than he cared to admit. But now they were gone. He shouldn't have any feelings for her anymore, and yet he felt like a gaping hole had been punctured into his chest.

He hadn't seen her since _that _night; the night that had changed everything, the night that had been the beginning of the worst time of his life.

But now he was over her. Any feeling of love had disappeared that night.

He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind, and concentrated on every breath.

He shook his head frustratingly and started to clean his head of all things Cuddy. This time he seemed to do a better job. Her name didn't pop up in his mind as often, and the feeling of her soft lips against his were completely gone…kind of.

He was slowly drifting back to sleep when he suddenly felt oddly weary, as if someone had placed a heavy load on his chest. Something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was too tired to think of it when his mind had finally settled away from unwanted thoughts, and he fell into the sweet embrace of a dreamless sleep.

Few feet away his leather jacket was carelessly draped over an old padded armchair. In the small inner pocket lay his vibrating cell phone, the sound muffled and unheard by its owner. A familiar name flashed across the lit up screen. After a moment the light went out, the name replaced with a string of words.

'1 missed call'

* * *

She stared at her phone, and lowered it to her side. She felt the cold, dead fear grip her heart with an iron fist. She stared at the darkness in her cold bedroom. She gripped the cell phone tighter in her fist, wishing for once that this was just a silly prank. He had done it before, why wouldn't he do it again?

She knew the answer. He may be a free man now, but he wouldn't do this to her.

Her thoughts turned to the package she had received the week before, and the hidden message that had followed it. She knew that it could only be from _him_.

No one else knew. No one else could possibly know.

Yes, he was behind this. She always knew that they would never be able to stay completely away from each other, right? This was just a prank.

But she knew, she could feel that this wasn't a silly prank. Her eyes stared ahead into the darkness. The noise erupted again, the same noise that had woken her up. The same noise that made her heart hammer violently in her chest. It was the sound of breaking glass, and the sound rang through the house like an atom bomb. Someone was breaking in, and that someone was not trying to be discreet.

She tried to remain calm. She could control this, she was in charge of her mind, and she was not going to let the fear carry her away.

Then she heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer and closer.

The noise made her jump up. She grabbed the phone again and started to dial 911, and was about to press the final number when the doorknob opened, and a dark figure barged into the room.

Her scream died in her throat when she saw the intruder.

She could feel her body freeze in place, the terror overpowering every fiber in her body, making her completely immobile. She tried in a feeble attempt to find a way out, but the figure was already by the bed.

She dropped the phone on the floor, the clacking sound when it fell drowned from a heart-wrenching scream.

* * *

Officer Nathan Cole sat idly in the police car, watching the almost empty road ahead. He opened the window, allowing the still night air in. He desperately needed a smoke, and he craved for nothing else but to crawl into his bed and get decent nights sleep.

He looked at his watch and cursed inwardly when he saw that it was only five a.m., which meant three endless hours of waiting. This was one of those shifts that felt like they wouldn't end at all, his eyes drifted occasionally shut and he would wake up with a single loud obnoxious snore.

He yawned before taking a sip from his disposable coffee cup, his face turned into a grimace when the cold coffee ran through his mouth, he stuck his tongue out in disgust. "Ugh," he uttered repulsively.

He put the container in the plastic cup holder in the car, and opened the glove box rummaging through the contents to see if anyone had left any gum or mints; the taste was killing him. After a thorough search he found a wrapped in gum and he eagerly shoved it into his mouth, chewing away the horrible aroma. Meanwhile he stared at the few cars that drove past him.

He was situated in the heart of the township of Princeton, where he had been placed to check on over speeders. So far everyone seemed to be legal, or as legal as people go. His entire night had been spent drinking bad coffee and listening to equally bad music.

For three years he had been an officer for the Mercer County Police, and for three years he had been miserable. Mostly he had been ordered to do exactly this; speed tracking. He was very well aware that his job wouldn't be all car chase and crime arrests, this was Princeton for Christ's sake. The job wasn't exciting; most of it went into paperwork and…waiting. Well he couldn't have expected a lot of action. Princeton was after all a university town where most of the population was students, professors or old people who wanted to live in peace and quiet. The police busiest night was handling overly drunk college nerds.

But the worst thing wasn't the lack of excitement. The worst thing was that every time he went into one of those parties, ordering people to leave the party or dissolving a drunken fight, he was reminded that he used to be one of those kids, and he could still be. He was a twenty six year old college drop out, and every single time he went into the dorms, he was reminded what a shit of a life he was living. And every single time he questioned that decision, yet he couldn't bring himself to go back to school. He wanted to become something great. His two brother's were smart and successful; one was a doctor the other a lawyer. And he, well he was a cop, a simple officer of the law who couldn't decide what to do with his life. Pathetic.

He was interrupted from his thoughts with the muffled sound from the radio.

"There's been a complaint from 1461 Westcott Road. Neighbors said they heard loud noise from across the street."

Damn people and their complaints, Nathan took the radio from the holster and brought it to his lips.

"Copy that."

He dropped the radio into the empty car seat beside him and started the car. Usually they were paired with a partner but it was summer and they were already too short on officers. So Nathan was stuck alone, which made the shift even longer. At least he had something to do now.

He drove out of the parking lot he'd parked on and drove down the highway. He allowed himself to step on the gas a little harder since it was so early in the morning. He turned left out of the highway up the calmer road of Bayard lane.

Five minutes later he turned into the quiet street called Westcott Road. He drove down the street until he reached the house number 1461, and parked the car. He stepped out, and stretched his legs gratefully after five hours of sitting.

He glanced at the house across the street, and didn't notice anything abnormal about it. He heard the door open behind him and watched two older couple in the doorway. The woman stepped out to greet him.

"Oh thank you officer for coming." She drew the night robe tighter around her plump frame, shielding herself from the cold air.

"Not at all ma'am. You said that you heard some noise from across the street?"

The woman nodded her head in confirmation. "Yes. I know there's no noise now, but I can swear that I heard breaking furniture, and someone screaming. I just wanted to make sure that everything's all right." She said worriedly.

"Has there been a problem before?"

"Oh no, not at all. She lives alone with her daughter; she's a doctor, and she's very nice. I think she works a lot, but she seems like a decent person. Don't you think so Fred?" She turned her head in her husband's direction that hadn't moved from the doorway.

"Yes I guess so." He murmured.

"She just moved in, so we don't know her that well." The woman explained. Nathan nodded his head and looked at the dark house across the street.

"All right I'll check on it."

"Oh thank you Officer." The woman seemed genuinely thankful, and it made Nathan almost feel good about coming, but even though he hadn't worked for the police for a long time he knew that usually calls like these were just a cry wolf. His superiors had warned him about those. But still, something wasn't quite right. He wasn't sure what it was. There sure was no sign of anything abnormal, but there was something wrong.

He left the husband and wife on the doorstep, and walked over the deserted street. The house was completely dark, and there was no sound. He walked by the dark trees that hovered over the house, there was something eerily quiet about the house, and he could feel the sinking feeling of dread as he drew closer to the front door. He knocked on the door firmly. He waited a little then knocked again when he got no answer. Still there came no answer. He knocked with a little bit more force.

"Ma'am this is Officer Cole from the County Police." He yelled. Still there came no answer. He decided to knock once again, but when his knuckles hit the wood the door opened by the sheer force. His hand was still in the air as he stared dumbfounded at the dark hallway. Soft traces of music welcomed his ears, the melody sounded haunting yet beautiful to his ears. He took a small step inside.

"Ma'am. Are you in there?"

He stopped when he caught the side of the splinters in the wood. The door had been broken, and it was not by him, the force wasn't enough to cause such damage.

He placed a hand on the holster where his gun rested, unused. For some time he had dreamed of using it at least once, but right now he really hoped that it wouldn't come to that. He stepped carefully inside and turned on his flashlight. His heart hammered in his chest while he took careful steps down the hallway. The music grew louder with every step he took, he recognized the tune but didn't know the name of it. He stopped by the closed door where the sound came from. He opened it quickly the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He wasn't prepared for the horrific scene that met him. He stared at the room perplexed.

Everything was a mess, the bed had moved several inches from the wall, the covers lay tousled in the bed. The floor was covered with broken glass, and he almost recoiled by the sight of the blood that covered the floorboards. But the most horrifying scene wasn't the mess of the room but the horrible, red letters on the wall that he realized where written in blood. The letters leaked in abstract patterns down the white wall forming a horrific pattern, and he darted his eyes from the horror quickly.

"Is anyone here?" he whispered. He opened the holster and drew out his gun, and walked into the room, he took a deep breath, the smell of blood filling his nostrils. He felt the bile start in his throat and he swallowed saliva to prevent it from coming up, he tried to think of every procedure he was taught in the police academy, but every information he had ever received seemed jumbled up in his mind. He walked into the room, and opened the closet and the bathroom. When he was sure that he was alone he drew out the radio with a shaky hand and said with urgency.

"Officer Cole here. I need backup and…" He hesitated before he added. "Contact the Crime Department."

"They're on their way."


	4. Awakening

A/N: This chapter was outlined, prepped and well thought out, and still it refused to turn out like I wanted it to, hence the long gap between chapters.

I feel terribly sorry for the lack of update, and I will try my best to update more frequently.

Thank you for the readers and reviewers of the previous chapter.

* * *

**-Chapter Three-**

**Awakening**

House woke up again completely disoriented and clueless of where he was or what time it was. For a split second he wondered why they hadn't rang in for breakfast yet, or why his cellmate hadn't made his usual kick in his leg on his way to the toilet, when he realized that he wasn't there anymore. The mattress under him didn't feel like he was lying on bricks, and the soft pillow under his head was actually fluffy and comfortable. Instead of urine and sweat, he smelled the familiar smell of heavy furniture and something else that he couldn't quite place; something that smelled distinctively like home, and he hated it.

Two sky blue eyes shot open, but he closed them tightly shut when a sunray blinded his eyes. He opened them slowly and pierced his eyes into the light; he raised himself in a sitting position. He groaned when his leg protested under his weight. He picked up the Vicodin bottle on the nightstand, remembering vaguely that he had woken up sometime in the middle of the night, but his head was still hazy from sleep and he popped a couple of pills into his mouth. He put the lid back on but hesitated, shrugged his shoulders and popped the lid open and swallowed two more. He rubbed his leg, futilely trying to ease the pain.

He finally stood up and hobbled to the chair that stood by the bedroom door, and picked up the clothes that had been carelessly placed on it the other night. He picked them up and dumped them in the nearest trash. There was no way that he was going to wear those again.

He dug into his closet and found a pair of jeans and a shirt, and fleetingly put them on. He hadn't worn those clothes for over a year, and the weight he had lost in prison was clearly evident in the way his pants hung loosely on his now considerably thinner body. He inhaled the clean scent of the clothing, and enjoyed the feeling of the smooth cotton of the fabric against his rough skin.

He limped into the bathroom and supported his hands on the sink. He stared at his gaunt reflection in the mirror that hung above the sink. He had looked bad before, but now he looked even worse. His red-rimmed eyes were lifeless and cold; the dark circles under his eyes made him appear tired and old. He ran a hand through his considerably longer hair and grabbed a pair of scissors and grasped a handful of hair and snipped them off. He watched the strands of hair, a mix of chestnut and grey, fall into the sink. After them followed more.

He looked himself in the mirror, pleased with the outcome, and feeling considerably more like himself.

He stepped out of the bathroom and limped into the kitchen, and made himself some coffee and toast. As he munched on the food he couldn't help but think of pathetically normal it seemed. It was odd how normal things like eating breakfast alone, in silence, could become such a foreign thing. After one year of eating questionable breakfast, surrounded by men twice his size, spitting, arguing and fighting. Every now and then he would receive a spit in the back of his neck, or get lost in the midst of a riot. It surprised him how lonely he felt, sitting there alone.

He couldn't say that he had enjoyed prison, or else he would be lying. But the worst things weren't what most would expect. The other prisoners were mostly too dense, and too predictable that winning them on his side turned out to be way easier than he had predicted. Manipulating people had always come easy for him, and first it had been fun, but after couple of months it started to bore him. Most of the time he sat in his bed, and tried to read as much as he could, but soon reading started to bore him, and often his mind would roam to places he least wanted to visit.

Oh, he had tried to ignore thinking about her, but how could he forget the woman who had been such a presence in his life for all this time? The woman who had stolen his dead, and cold heart so easily, then broken it in half just as easily with her iron fists.

They had asked him if he regretted his actions. He had said yes, but he wasn't sure whether he had answered it truthfully.

He was a selfish bastard, and he knew it, but that's how he had felt at that moment. Had he wished that he hadn't driven his car into her house and got sent to prison? Yes. Did he regret that his actions had hurt her? No.

He didn't hurt her, and he knew that he wasn't going to hurt her, not like she had hurt him. He clenched his fist and slammed it down on the table, the pain of losing her had dulled with time, but every day he could feel the pang of loss for her. At least prison had made his pain slightly easier. He hated when he had to go to work, and see her every single day, the cruel sensation of not being able to hold her, kiss her, and love her pained him with every waking hour.

But now he was back, and it seemed like nothing had changed, the only sign of the passing time were the thick dust buns that covered the shelves of his bookcases, but otherwise everything looked the same. But the truth was that everything had changed.

With that bitter thought he finished his equally bitter coffee, and stood up from the chair. He roamed around his apartment, thinking of something to do.

What do you do when you're released from prison?

Was he supposed to feel free, depressed, bitter? They had probably some catalogues about that, not that he cared.

He should probably look for a job, and move somewhere far away from New Jersey. But he knew that getting a job wasn't going to be easy. He already had a colorful resume, and now that he was on record his excessive reputation was even worse than before. No serious hospital would hire him. Even he wouldn't hire himself, and he knew that talking to _her _wasn't even an option.

He had officially reached rock bottom.

He was without a job; he had no friends, or family that he could talk to. He had driven the only people that showed any care towards him away. He was completely alone, and somehow he felt more like a prisoner there in his own home, rather than inside the prison walls. He felt like he was suffocating in there, and there was only one thing that could possibly take that feeling away.

He stood up and grabbed his leather jacket, helmet and keys. He limped into his bedroom to grab his leather jacket, which he had thrown on the chair the night before. He put it on and checked the pockets for his phone and keys. He decided to check if someone had bothered to call him and noticed two missed calls, one was from Wilson…figures. He didn't give the other number any thought and pressed dial. After the fifth ring he knew that he wasn't going to answer the phone, so he slammed it shut and threw it into his pocket. He limped out of the house and to the parking space where his motorcycle was parked.

He removed the cover on his motorcycle, climbed onto it and started it. He drove down the street, the wind in his face making him feel freer than he had felt in months. He drove through town and raced down the freeway, weaving through the cars that drove past him.

He couldn't describe the feeling he felt just then, but it was the feeling of a free man. Being so immobile the bike was the only way for him to ever feel the freeing feeling of movement. He had loved running when his leg had been healthy. He loved the burning sense of his muscles clenching and unclenching with the effort, and the sweat and weariness that followed a long and successful hour of running. He hated the motionless life he lived, he felt constantly restless and agitated, and for years, this had been his only way of feeling that freedom again. It was the freedom of feeling alive and healthy again.

He drove down to the coast, and parked his bike by a beach. There he walked down onto the sand and watched the brilliant sea. The colder ocean wind whipped through his cropped hair.

He walked further down the beach, and sat down on a sea worn boulder in the midst of the white sand. He dug his feet into the sand and watched the tiny grains fall back down in slow motions.

He felt awfully lonely out there. He was used to being alone, but this time it felt different because now he was truly all alone.

Sure, Wilson had called him, but he also knew that it was more his friends conscience rather than anything else. It didn't mean that he wanted to stay in contact with him. And maybe it was just best that they wouldn't still be friends. Maybe he should just leave and never come back. He had enough money saved that he could do anything he wanted. He could travel, or move someplace he had never been before, somewhere outside the US.

Then why did he feel the deep ache in his heart at the thought of leaving?

He very well knew what it was, but he also knew that it was something he couldn't get. Their relationship had been so pathetically short compared to the years of flirting with each other, that it felt pathetic to mope over something that wasn't meant to be.

He kicked a small stone with the toe of his foot and watched it roll in the sand. He watched the waves tumble over the beach.

He _should_ leave. He should just pack everything and leave Princeton for good. But what difference would it make? He would still be the same old miserable bloke he was today. But he felt it deep within himself that he shouldn't. There was something that was keeping him there, like a magnet that refused to let go.

He sighed in frustration and stood up. He walked for a little while, until his leg couldn't take it anymore, and he headed to his motorcycle.

He drove for a while, but soon his hunger started to get the best of him.

He ended by parking in front of a diner, feeling the need to eat something deliciously disgusting. He entered the diner and placed his order; a double bacon cheeseburger with extra fries and a large Coke. He had settled in one of the booths when he noticed that most of the customers were rooted in front of a large flat screen. He disregarded it, he had never been too fond of sports and he wasn't in the mood.

"Terrible about that woman." A raspy voice muttered beside him.

House turned his head in the direction of the voice and saw that it belonged to an elderly man that sat in the booth beside him. His watery blue eyes observed him, his sagging cheeks and downcast mouth reminded him of a bulldog.

"What are you talking about?" He asked disinterested.

"Haven't you been paying attention? It's all over the news; some woman was abducted from her home last night. They say it's a murderer."

"And."

"She was some sort of doctor or something. I don't know." The man ignored his objective remark. But House's interest was slightly piqued. He was about to ask him if he knew whom it was when his food arrived. He disregarded the man and took a bite of his burger. He heard the man mutter something, probably more to himself than anyone else. He finally stood up and walked out of the diner, leaving House alone. People seemed to walk away from the flat screen, seemingly shaken by the newscast. He was taking a sip when his eyes landed on the screen where a picture of PPTH flashed on the screen. He frowned and put the glass back on the table, his eyes glued on the image. Now he was interested.

He stood up from his table and limped closer to the screen where few people stood intently. A grave female reporter appeared on the screen. In the corner stood in bright red letters 'Breaking News'.

"We have breaking news from the latest abduction of what appears to be linked to the vicious murders of the New Jersey Killer. His latest victim was abducted from her home in Princeton, New Jersey. We have just received the news that the victim is Dr. Lisa Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine of the prestigious Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. The 44 year old was last seen leaving work at 5 p.m. If you have any information please contact the New Jersey State Police."

House stared at the screen in horror. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut making it hard for him to breathe. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be her.

Right then a picture of Cuddy appeared on the screen. He hadn't seen her face for one year, and yet he still could memorize everything about her. The image made him feel sick.

"We'll switch to Adam Lowell who's at the abduction site."

A young reporter stood in front of a house where several police officers stood in front of the house protecting the scene from the public. The reporter stood as close to the yellow tape, that prohibited access, as close as possible.

"Adam can you hear me?" The reporter in the studio said.

"Yes Karen. Here you see the scene where the horrid crime took place. We know now that the victim was removed from her home in a matter of minutes. The neighbors didn't hear anything. As you can see he must have broken the door to get inside." He pointed at the entrance, which was hidden by a group of police officers.

"I have a strong source that tell me that the F.B.I. are getting involved. As for now the police are busy finding witnesses. Back to you Karen."

The African American woman appeared back on the screen.

"Thank you Adam. What is there more to know about the murderer?

The murderer is known for his horrifying methods, first abducting his victims then keeping them for up to one year until he murders them. His chilling messages and gruesome methods have made the Police and the F.B.I. dub him the most vicious killer in the Jersey area. See more information about this malicious killer in our exclusive interview with Dr. Marcus Hill, a professor in criminology at the University of New York, right after our four o'clock broadcast. I'm Karen Jones, and you are watching Fox News."

Everything was blurry, and he didn't know better until he had stepped out of the diner and into the humid air, gasping for breaths. He leaned forward and wretched on the street, emptying his stomach. The smell hit his nose and he spit on the ground. He straightened up shakily. The picture of Cuddy, smiling and proud flashed in his mind. He tried to wrap his mind around this, but everything seemed to be going one hundred miles an hour, and any thought jumbled up in his mind. He stormed to his motorcycle, jumped on it and drove off, the gravel on the parking lot flew in the air as the wheels spun up the earth.

He didn't think, he just drove off into the nothingness. Everything turned hazy around him and the cars dissolved into nothingness.

The next thing he remembered was the hovering lights of the ambulance, and the sound of sirens erupting in the distance. He looked disoriented at the paramedic and closed his eyes. Shit. What a wonderful day to start as a free man.


	5. Harry Dwight

A/N: I realize that many of you don't understand the concept of this story. I'll just say that this story requires a lot of patience. There are many concepts and ideas that take time to explain and I intend to take my time. Soon the whole picture will be clearer.

Facts: The Behavioral Science Unit is a real department within the F.B.I. It was founded in the 1970's. The Unit consists of psychologists, criminologists, research/crime analysts, and management analysts. I do not work as an officer of the law, but what I know comes from research. I'm not a psychologist either so the notion of criminal profiling that comes across in this story is for entertainment purposes only. I do not claim to know how the criminal mind works, but I have read about several real life murderers and read about other peoples criminal profiles.

* * *

**-Chapter Four-**

**Harry Dwight**

_F.B.I., Behavioral Science Unit_

_Quantico, Virginia. _

Senior Special Agent Harry Dwight sat by his desk deeply engrossed in the file before him. His grey eyes were speculative and still under heavy eyebrows. He adjusted his glasses that rested on his crooked nose and continued reading the last paragraph. He sighed deeply and raised his ballpoint pen and scribbled his name on the bottom of the paper, a confirmation that the case had been successfully solved. The sudden relief and joy of solving yet another case went through his senses briefly before he was reminded, yet again, that there were other cases to solve. The thrill of catching another murderer was short-lived; there were always other murderers, other victims, and other cases that awaited him.

But not today.

He put the file on top of a huge stack of other files and stared at the other corner of the desk where an even bigger pile rested heavily by the brim of the desk. It seemed that the unsolved cases seemed to bear more weight and remembrance than the solved ones.

After thirty years he still remembered every name, every face, and every detail of the victims that he either never found or was too late to find. Some said that he was possessive; obsessed with the things he couldn't control, but he didn't care.

That's why this was the last case. There would be no more faces in the night, or empty promises he couldn't keep to grieving parents, husbands, wives, children.

He was done-finished.

He looked at the small office that had been his second home for the past three decades. The small study was clustered and untidy. His office chair was old and weary; the leather had ripped in several places revealing the padding of the chair, and his desk was tacky and old, the once smooth surface was scratched and stained from the one too many coffee cups in the past.

With a heavy sigh he picked up his briefcase and stood up from the chair. He looked at stacked shelves that lined the walls with dreadful eyes, then he shook his head frustratingly, picked up his jacket that had been draped over the chair, and shut off the lights before stepping out of the office. He didn't take a second glance back.

He put his jacket on and walked out of the inner office into the hall. Thankfully he didn't pass many people, and the few who saw him gave him monotonous hellos over the brim of their coffee cups. He had long decided to end this discreetly. He didn't want anyone meddling in his business, so none of them suspected that this might be their last sleepy hello to him.

He walked practically unnoticed through most of the building, and had reached the main hall when he heard someone yell behind him.

"Harry!"

He turned around immediately and hurried around the nearby pillar.

"Hey Harry!"

He heard the same person turn into a sprint after him. Subtly he began to move faster, and drew his jacket closer to his body. He snatched a hat from someone's head and placed it carefully on his head to shield his face. He ignored the man's loud protests, and turned swiftly down the hall. He looked back and breathed a sigh of relief.

He walked few inches forward when he walked straight into the person he had been avoiding– Don Paxton.

He and Don had been working together since the beginning of his career as an F.B.I. Agent. Don had later been promoted to be an Assistant Director then a Senior Director, which was his current position.

Don breathed heavily and raised his palms for him to stop.

"Harry." He couldn't manage to say anything else and tried to control his breathing. The years behind the desk had done him no good. When he was in the field he had been able to run five miles without breaking a sweat, but now he had gained a few pounds, and age had even taken away his light brown locks, his head was now nearly completely bald. He damped the bead of sweat from his forehead and exhaled loudly.

"Don." He said evenly. "I know what you're going to say and my answer is no. I have handed in my resignation. There's no turning back."

He said the words evenly and began to walk away from him.

Don was quick in his step, even quicker than he had anticipated, and stopped him in his tracks.

"It's not what you think." He said hurriedly. "Actually it's partially what you think, but you have to listen to me."

Harry looked at him completely disinterested, and took a step forward.

"Harry, please just listen." He said pleadingly.

"No Don. I have made my decision. Everything's been taken care of the papers are on Matthews desk waiting to be signed, so no! I'm done with this."

He walked forward and surprisingly he didn't stop him. He was well on his way out to freedom when he heard Don murmur.

"He's back Harry." His voice was soft but he felt like he just as could've screamed the words. He turned around and looked at his friend wearily. He knew exactly of whom he was talking about, there was only one thing that could possibly bring him back. How typical of him to mention the only thing in the world that would make him change his mind. He was no fool.

"You're sure?" He asked wearily.

He nodded his head gravely.

"Believe me. I'm not saying this to make you change your mind, but I thought you would like to know."

"You're absolutely sure?" He said again.

"Yes." He said hurriedly, then he stepped forward. "Harry. Please just consider…"

"No."

"Harry."

"I said no." He said more forcefully and turned around. He heard Don's quick footsteps behind him.

"Harry please, there's no one else who can get into that guy's head. You're our only chance to catch him. Harry…."

Harry tried to walk faster out of the building. He could feel the burning curiosity spread from his fingertips, and to his toes, consuming him completely. He wanted to know more. Heck, he _needed_ to know more.

He stopped and turned around to face Don who was close behind.

"I'll look at it."

Don opened his mouth almost gleefully but Harry stopped him.

"But don't you dare think that I'm taking this case. I'm merely observing. Get it?"

Don nodded his head but he could see the relief in his eyes.

"I'm serious Don. I'm finished here."

"Of course." He said fleetingly. "The file is in my office."

Harry huffed but followed him reluctantly. They stepped into the elevator that carried them to the seventh floor where Don's fancy directors office overlooked the training facility. Don gestured Harry to sit down and handed him a file over the desk. Harry grabbed it and examined the contents.

"Yesterday a 44 year old was abducted from her home the similar way the other six victims were."

"I presume that Lilian Archibald is still missing." He muttered, and adjusted his glasses.

"I don't see anything that seems remotely like our killer." Harry added looked over the rim of his glasses at his friend.

"Look at the last page." He said calmly, and rested his palms together over the desk. Harry flipped to the last page where a set of pictures spread before him. He adjusted his glasses to take a better look, his interest immediately piqued.

The first photo showed a hallway, the floor covered with broken glass, and shattered photo frames. He flipped to the next picture, it was a bedroom, everything was in a mess, patches of blood covered the floorboards. He flipped to the last picture, and looked immediately up. Don nodded his head affirmatively.

So he was back.

The blood red letters on the wall smiled cruelly at him, reminding him that he was still out there, taunting them.

"That son of a bitch." Harry spat and threw the pictures angrily on the table.

Don leaned forward and rested his hands on the desk.

"Harry, I know you have decided to quit, but you can't ignore this. We need you on this."

"I can't do it Don. I promised myself that I would stay away."

"Harry, consider this your last case. You've his profile, you know how he thinks."

Harry stormed up abruptly and walked back and forth.

"Please consider it."

"And what then? There is always another case."

"This is different. I promise you, after this I won't bother you."

"What about Matthews? I have already handed in my resignation. I doubt that he'll be happy to have me back even temporarily." It made him a little bit keener on taking the job knowing that the Director of the department would not be too happy to hear that he would return to another case. Things hadn't exactly been on good terms between them. Jacob Matthews, a tall, broad shouldered African-American, believed in order above anything else, and when an Agent, like Harry, whose only mission was to catch the bad guy no matter what would happen. Let's say he didn't let those things slide easily.

"I'll deal with Matthews." Don said assuredly.

"I'll take your word on that."

"So you'll do this?" Don asked a little bit too enthusiastically.

"But I want my Team on this."

Don's happy expression faltered and he looked awkwardly away, and scratched his forehead.

"Ah Harry, they have all been moved to other departments. I don't know how-"

"Then you can forget it." Harry dismissed and started to turn around.

"Okay, okay. I´ll see what I can do." He said quickly.

"Call me when they're ready." With that he grabbed the file and walked out of the office.

Few minutes later he stepped out into the open air. He had expected to feel relieved, even glad that he would leave, but now the excitement was gone, and his thoughts were jumbled up, a dull ache pulsed against his temples and he wished nothing more than to go home and get a decent sleep. He wasn't sure what to tell his wife of the change of plans, and his thoughts were too absorbed in the news of his enemy's return that his excuses had to wait.

He sat down on the stone steps and took a deep breath. The sun was climbing up, illuminating the sky with its orange and peach palette beckoning the start of a new day.

He opened the file, the first page showing a picture of the latest victim. She smiled proudly into the camera, her grey-blue eyes twinkling, and her dark hair framing her attractive features. He ran his thumb over the name, Lisa Cuddy, before closing the file and standing up. He peered his eyes at the glowing sun, and stepped on the pavement, swearing to himself that she would not be on the list of deceased.

* * *

Breathe in, breathe out, she chanted to herself, concentrating on each breath as she ran down the forest path. She could feel the sweat form on her brow, and her t-shirt glued uncomfortably to her wet skin, but she kept moving. Her legs burned from the strain, and her throat felt dry, but she ignored those discomforts. Her almond shaped brown eyes stared fixed ahead. Her dark hair flew behind her back, strapped in a ponytail on the back of her neck.

Her feet drummed in even beats against the forest floor. The music drummed in her ears, driving her onwards, forcing her to keep going.

She was almost there; almost there- she finally stopped by the red marker on the tree stump that blocked the road and let out a satisfied sigh. She leaned her hands on her knees and dropped her head down, catching her breath.

"Looking good Diana."

She looked up quickly, and smirked when she saw whom it was. She straightened up and walked to him slowly.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on a plain to New York?" She looked down at her watch. "About right now."

He handed her a towel and a bottle of water, which she accepted gratefully.

"I thought I might find you here."

His tall body was uncharacteristically stylish; his usual jean and t-shirt style had been discarded for a more professional suite and tie look. His usually unruly chestnut hair was actually combed and he smelled suspiciously like he had put on cologne. Her partner of five years had never appeared so put together, and she felt slightly odd seeing her former partner and best friend like this.

She took a swig of water and dried her forehead with the towel.

"Jim, what's going on?" She finally asked and crossed her arms, observing him closely.

"We're needed."

"Where?"

"When I was checking in I got a call from S.D. Paxton, he said that they need the old team back."

"But... why? "

"He's back."

His words made her skin crawl, and the small hairs on the back of her neck rose, and the familiar dread sunk deep in her stomach.

"There was another victim in Princeton. They want us there at one o'clock."

"But what about our jobs? I have a ticket to Brazil at six, and you. I thought you had this big opportunity at New York…" She trailed off. "Are you sure it's him. Because I wont do this except they're absolutely sure."

"It's him. This is our chance to catch that guy."

She had two options; she had a ticket to Brazil where she was going to meet her family, the family she hadn't been in contact with for years, or she could go with Jeremy. It didn't take her a long time to decide.

"Okay."

"I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away."

She rolled her eyes, but gave him a small smile, which was short lived by the dark thoughts of their upcoming task.

"We'll catch that guy, Di, I'm sure of it." He said when he noticed her expression.

"I hope you're right." She muttered. Something in her gut told her that it wouldn't be so easy. She shrugged it off and followed Jeremy onto the unknown path of the nameless murderer.

* * *

The government airplane was prepped and ready. Don stood right outside the plane observing the group of four that walked into his direction.

Harry in the front, his thinning grey hair whipped in the wind, his more experienced grim expression revealing a man that was experienced in his field, but his firm steel grey gaze gave away a man that new all too well the horrors of the world. Beside him was the much younger agent Jeremy Spencer. His eager demeanor showed a man in the bloom of his career, all too eager to catch the bad guy. His tall, and broad frame was clad in jeans and a simple shirt, his eyes hidden under a pair of sunglasses. He saluted him with a huge grin on his face, which Don acknowledged with a tired smile. Right after him came Agent Diana Martinez, who sported a considerably grimmer expression than her partner. Her long dark locks whipped in the wind, her brown eyes firm and speculative. She gave him a small hello before trotting after Agent Spencer who had already jumped onto the airplane stairway.

After them walked the last member of Harry's team. Agent David Flynn York was one of the best in the field, his reputation widely known inside the bureau.

"Good to see you Paxton." He greeted him warmly, his amber eyes smiled as he spoke. He was much better preserved than the other two. Agent York was tall, handsome and soft spoken. How he got along with the rest of the team was beyond him. The other three weren't exactly the picturesque Agents, but they all did their job well, and he couldn't think of anyone else who could solve this than them. They were the best of the best.

He handed Harry a file, which the other one took. Don held it in place and stared him down.

"You better follow the rules this time Harry or you'll be sent straight back to D.C."

"No, they wouldn't want anything scandalous." He shuddered teasingly and grimaced.

"Just do what you do best, and don't forget that I'll be watching you." He said firmly. "And control your team. I don't want the same incident to happen twice."

"I'll make sure of it."

"I'm serious Harry."

"You were the one that begged me to check on this."

"Don't play a fool Harry. I'm doing you a favor. Don't you think you would be obsessing over this case even though you've quit? I know you Harry. You don't just quit."

Harry shook his head and sighed.

"Maybe you're right." He mumbled and took a step forward.

"And Harry." He called after him sternly. Harry turned around, his hands grabbing the railing for support, his eyes squinting at the sun.

"You go get that son of a bitch."

Harry smirked and nodded his head. He turned around and stepped on the plane. Don walked away and watched the plain drive down the runway. He watched the plane take off, the wind whipped around him. He placed his hands in front of his eyes to shield them from the bright sun.

He watched the plane fly up until it disappeared on the horizon.


	6. Forget Me Not

A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the lack of update, but this chapter has been a twisted thorn in my side for the past weeks. The main problem is always to keep everyone in character but due to the unfortunate events I'm placing them in it has been an excruciating task to keep everyone true to their self while presenting new ideas and backstories into the picture. Thankfully I managed to pull through. Again, so sorry for the lack of update, but I will really try to post more frequently. Not a day passes that I don't think about this story, and I _am_ writing, but I ask for patience. I hope this chapter will meet up to expectations, and I'm so grateful for the wonderful reviews and positive feedback I have received, and hope that you haven't given up on this story.

Huge thanks to a wonderful little person in my life who told me to stop taking this too seriously and have fun with it.

* * *

_**-Chapter Five-**_

_**Forget-Me-Not**_

2. May. 2010. 

"_Forget me not." _

_The soft hum of his baritone voice vibrated against the smooth skin of her neck that made her shiver ever so slightly. The subtle gesture would have gone unnoticed to most people, but she could feel his mouth stretch into a smile indicating that he had noticed her reaction. She could feel the wiry hairs of his beard against her skin that made her skin tingle. Two pairs of slate eyes met sky blue that gleamed with humor, and something else that made her go completely weak in the knees. _

_There were many things she adored about that man; his intelligence, wit, talents, and unquenchable thirst for knowledge, but it were the small things that made her heart flutter in her chest. She loved his hands, his long fingers that could make her skin tingle with a single touch, and his eyes, his ever alert sky blue eyes that sometimes appeared to hold every secret in the world, those eyes could make her feel both vulnerable and confident at the same time. _

_But there was something about his smooth voice that made her body melt. It felt like the smoothest velvet in her ears, and she could easily drown herself in his words and never surface again. _

_She turned around quickly, and saw his playful smirk. She opened her mouth to answer, but was caught short when he raised a single flower to her eyelevel. The green stem held a cluster of tiny flowers in light shades of violet and blue. _

_Forget-me-not. _

_He placed the flower on her sweater, and allowed his fingers to linger on her shoulder. She took his hand in hers and smiled at him knowingly. _

_This small gesture wouldn't have been considered simple, and not too romantic at all, but there was nothing simple when it came to House. _

_If there was anything she had learned in her relationship with House that was that nothing was coincidental or meaningless to him. Everything held a secret meaning, and sometimes when he lacked the words he wanted to express he showed them in small gestures. House wasn't big on presents. She received occasional flowers, or stolen tokens from the hospital's patients. Even though she scolded him for stealing from patients and told him to return it back, she secretly adored those little gifts, because they meant that he was thinking about her, and wanted to express it in his own unique way. It made her feel special. _

_But there was something different about this flower, and the meaning behind it. She knew that House feared rejection above anything else. He didn't do well with change, and when he had his heart settled there was no turning back. His little present wasn't just a devoted gesture, it was a plea for her to stay with him, to tolerate him, even though he wasn't good enough for her, or so he thought. _

_That thought made her unbelievably sad, and a little bit guilty. _

_The past week hadn't been their best, and their endless quarrelling and continuous shouting matches had made their private lives rough. _

_The flower was a sign of truce, a promise that they would never forget each other in the midst of their crazy lives. _

_Her eyes drifted from the flower to his face. She touched his cheek gently, and propped herself on her toes and gave him a kiss on the lips. _

_When they parted she leaned towards his ear and whispered. _

"_Never." _

* * *

Pain. That was the first thing she felt when she gained consciousness. Her head was exploding with a blinding pain, and she felt like her entire body was on fire. She blinked rapidly, her eyes trying to adjust to the swarming darkness. It took her a moment to figure out where she was or what had happened, but with gained consciousness she started to remember.

Her body bolted upright when she realized what had happened. She winced as she felt a stinging pain in her side, and a pounding headache start in the back of her head. She moaned and squeezed her eyes shut.

Slowly she opened them again, and tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness. She could barely see few inches ahead.

She moved her hands from her side and bolted up when the loud clacking sound of chains hit the hard floor. With cold fingers she touched her wrist to feel the smooth metal against her skin. A horrible feeling settled in her stomach with a cold grip when she realized that her wrists were chained. Instinctively she started to yank at the chains but to no avail.

Boldly she moved her hand to the back of her head to see whether she had a severe injury. She could feel the clots of hardened blood in her hair, and stopped when she touched the open gash. Thankfully it had stopped bleeding so at least she wasn't going to bleed out, but it definitely needed some stitches.

Her hand moved down from her neck and to her aching side, but didn't feel anything abnormal, although she estimated that she had a broken rib. Otherwise she seemed to be fine.

Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness and she could see her surroundings a bit clearer. She tried to swallow her fears, and think clearly. She moved her hands forward and let the tip of her fingers touch the hard surface underneath her, she moved forwards and let her hands roam through the surface until she reached the point between the floor and the wall. She laid her hands flat against the surface, and pressed them firmly against the wall, and raised herself into a standing position. Her legs shook with the effort but soon she gained her balance and oh so slowly she moved forwards.

It didn't take her a long time to realize that her movability was limited. She could barely move a few inches forward when the chains lodged and she couldn't move any further.

She breathed heavily, the fear starting to overpower her. The drumming of her heartbeat thumped in her ears like a ticking bomb, and her breath quickened.

She could be anywhere, and the person behind her torment could be watching her every move without her knowing it. She darted her head back and forth, and tried to get a better sense of the space surrounding her.

In panic she stumbled for the lock on her wrist and yanked on the chain, but it didn't budge one bit. She tried again and again until she cried out in frustration and dropped the chain with a loud bang.

She took a shaky breath and flipped her hair away from her face. She closed her eyes and exhaled. She could do this.

With two forceful hands she grasped the chain again, and tried to pull at it with all of her might. The metal cut into her skin, but she kept pulling. She let out an agonizing cry and dropped the chain again, and fell on her knees.

A choking sob escaped her lips as the reality of the situation hit her full force.

She tried to overcome her fears. She was a well-educated woman who was used to take all kinds of crap, and she refused to let her fears overpower her. She had been through too many bad things the past year, and she had survived that, she could survive this.

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on her breathing. After a few minutes she opened her eyes and tried to move again. This time she crawled against the floor, the floor felt cool against her skin, and she wafted forwards. When she reached as far as she could go, she roamed around with her hands, and tried to figure out the size of the space she was in. Her hands fumbled in the darkness, and suddenly she felt something smooth touch her fingertips. She darted back quickly; shakily she fumbled towards the smooth surface of the item, picked it up with trembling fingers. She brought it to her eyelevel, and soon her eyes focused on the item in her hand.

In her palm lay a single flower.

Her hand shook as she watched the flower and the meaning it held to her. It confirmed her worst fears; that someone was tormenting her, and was clearly enjoying it.

She closed her eyes and allowed a small tear to escape her eyes. The tear dropped on her skin, and traveled down her cheek before landing smoothly on the fabric of her shirt. With a heavy heart her memories took her too a not so distant past.

* * *

2. May. 2011

_Cuddy sat on a bench in the local park, the one that overlooked the entire playground where Rachel sat happily on one of the swings. Cuddy watched as the little girl kicked her tiny legs in the air and her longer hair flew in her face. She laughed out loud as she went higher and higher. She looked at her mother and gave her a tiny wave, which was returned by Cuddy followed by a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her smile faltered when Rachel looked away and continued to swing her legs into the air. Even a simple smile required much effort. She could feel the deep abyss of depression affect her in every day life, and she could feel that the effort of keeping a straight face was finally taking its toll. _

_Soon it would be a whole year since the horrible incident happened. It certainly didn't feel like a year had passed since she had been torn away from the safe, and comfortable life she lived, and into the whirlwind of chaos and desperation. _

_When she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could see every detail of that horrible day. She could smell the smoke from the crashed car, and the broken wood and glass around her. She could see his face as he handed her hairbrush to her. She could see it, and feel it as if it had happened yesterday. _

_She shook her head and tried to rid herself of any thoughts of him, and that day. She had paid a good amount of money to get help in dealing with it, and she was not going to ruin it with thoughts about him. _

_Yet still her thoughts returned to him, they always did. She knew that for better or worse he would always be in her life. If not physically then mentally he would always taunt her, and she would always give in, that was the inevitable waltz of her life. No matter what he would always be with her, and she felt sickened by the idea. She felt sick of herself for allowing herself to think about him at all, but how could she not, when he was the reason she had to build up her life from scratch. _

_After four weeks, and a fine sum of dollars she was allowed to move back into her home. The same home she had openly shared with the man that, in the end, had ruined it with such ease. She had stepped into her newly rebuilt living room, and stared at the bare walls and thought that she could never feel secure in that house ever again. As she looked at the empty street through the new windows she realized that she had two options; she could find another home, and go on with her life like nothing had ever happened, or, she could move entirely away from Princeton, and start from scratch. _

_Maybe the wiser, and saner decision was to move away. But Lisa Cuddy had never been known to give up, and she was too stubborn to accept defeat. So she stayed in Princeton, found herself a new home, a home far enough from her old place to feel safe, and close enough so she could work at the hospital. _

_For the next months she tried to sort out of the mess her life had become, and started from the start. She went to work, and kept a straight face the entire day like nothing had ever happened. At first she received curious expressions from every direction, and quiet whispers when people thought she wasn't listening, but after few weeks they started to forget, and she was mostly left alone to do her job. Well, except Wilson who kept popping up from time to time, until he too started to think that she was fine. _

_But the truth was that she wasn't fine. Every day she put up a mask of cold professionalism, and acted like she wasn't as broken and defeated as she truly felt. She was tired of playing cool and collected when she felt like she could break down every minute. _

_She had been stripped from her feeling of safety in a matter of seconds. He had stolen her trust, and confidence, and left her naked and afraid in the dark. She was a shell of her former self, and she hated how defeated and afraid he had left her. _

_She was utterly destroyed, and no one knew. _

"_Mommy!"_

_She was shaken out of her thoughts when she heard Rachel's voice cry out to her. She looked up and saw her running towards her. _

"_What is it sweetheart?" _

_Rachel ran into her embrace, and jumped into her lap. _

"_Is everything okay?" Cuddy asked as she stroked her hair out of her face. Rachel nodded her head and raised herself up. She smiled coyly and raised her tiny fist in the air and showed her a small flower she held in her hand. _

_Cuddy's breath caught in her throat when she noticed what kind of flower she was holding. _

"_What have you got there sweetie?" Cuddy asked her kindly. _

"_A flower." She muttered and turned her head back and pointed towards the bushes nearby. _

"_The man gave it to me." _

"_What man?" Cuddy asked alarmed. _

"_The man with the cane." _

_It couldn't possibly be…House was still in prison…there was no way. Yet still she looked around frantically to see whether she could see anyone that resembled him in any way, but there was no one in sight. _

"_Was it…." She gulped. She couldn't mention his name to her. She would have said if it was he. She was positive that she would. Instead she picked Rachel up and headed out of the park as quickly as she could. She disregarded Rachel's protest of leaving and headed straight to the car. _

_The entire way home was filled with agonized thoughts. He mind went back and forth with every possibility, and when she finally drove up the drive to her house she had managed to convince herself that she was overreacting._

_She stepped out of the car, and unbuckled Rachel out of her seat. She skipped ahead of her and took the handle of the door, and stepped inside. _

_It took Cuddy a moment to realize what was wrong, and when she did she felt the cold fear run through her. _

_She was sure that she had locked the door when she had stepped outside. _

_Cuddy walked slowly up the steps and followed Rachel's tracks. _

"_Rachel." She called. When Rachel didn't answer she felt panic and breezed into the living room where she found her on the floor, singing happily as she brushed the long blonde hair of her Barbie doll. _

"_Rachel why didn't you answer when I called?" She scowled. Rachel looked up and stared at her with her big, blue eyes. _

"_Sorry." She whispered then continued to play with her doll. _

_Cuddy sighed heavily, and shook her head tiredly. She was being paranoid, and not for the first time. _

_She left Rachel and headed into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She opened the fridge to get a bottle and was about to turn around when she was caught short by something that caught her eye. _

_Her eyes widened in horror when her eyes caught the display before her. The water bottle fell from her grasp and landed on the tiled floor. _

_The kitchen table was covered with forget-me-nots, and in the middle was a small piece of paper. On the paper stood the same three words he had whispered in her ear exactly one year before, and a date. Her eyes drifted from the table. She grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter and held it to her side. She walked around the whole house, and searched the house for the intruder, but there was no one there. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, and picked up her phone from her purse, and searched her contact list. She pressed dial and waited for him to answer. _

"_James Wilson." _

"_Wilson, this is Cuddy." She couldn't control the tremor in her voice. _

"_Is everything all right? Did something happen?" He asked in alarm. _

"_I'm not sure." She started to walk back and forth. _

"_What do you mean?" _

"_I think that someone broke into my house."_

"_What do you mean that you think that someone broke in?"_

"_Someone left a bunch of flowers on my kitchen table and a note." _

"_What did it say?" _

"_It doesn't matter." She muttered quickly. "What I need to know is…what I was going to ask you was…" She stopped mid sentence and tried to gather up the courage to ask the burning question. She had never mentioned House to Wilson, and neither had he, so breaking that boundary was something she wasn't quite prepared for. She needed the pretentious game they were playing, and she knew that by mentioning his name she would break that invisible boundary they had created. But it seemed that Wilson knew exactly what she was going to ask._

"_No. The situation hasn't changed." _

_That simple answer told her everything she needed to know, and she was grateful that Wilson hadn't mentioned his name. She wasn't quite sure whether she could handle that at this point. _

"_Okay. Thanks."_

"_Do you want me to come over? It's not a problem." _

"_No!" She said quickly, and then added. "It's fine. It's probably nothing." _

"_If you're sure…Just call if you need me." _

"_I will." She promised and hung up. _

_She bit her lip and tapped her nails against the counter nervously. _

_No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, she was sure that this wasn't 'nothing'. She felt a shiver run down her spine, and for a moment she felt the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching her. _

* * *

Someone had been watching her that day, and the days after that. She hadn't received messages after that, but she was alert of her surroundings. She stopped allowing Rachel out of the house without her supervision, and she bought new locks on every door and window of the house. Yet still she didn't feel secure.

One night she decided to contact the police. Unfortunately the police didn't find her proof good enough, and told her to contact a shrink.

After that she decided that her paranoia was reaching new levels, and she contacted the therapist she had been talking to for the past year.

Her depression got worse, and with each day she felt more exposed and more afraid.

Then one day she received a letter. This time it held only several numbers.

06.27.11.

It was the same numbers that had been written on the other note. She didn't know what they meant, but she was positive that someone was trying to scare her, and this time it had worked.

She knew for sure that it couldn't be House. It just couldn't be.

Those thoughts changed quickly when she received a package. This time it was a box. On top of the box was an envelope. She tore it open and froze when she saw whom it was from.

_Dear Cuddy. _

_I know that I must be the last person you want to hear from right now, but the last year has been hard…unbelievably hard, and if it has taught me anything it is to value the things I had before. _

_Cuddy, you don't know how much I love you, and wish that I could erase the horrible things that went between us. I know that you probably never want to see me again, and I know that rightfully you shouldn't. But I wanted to write to you and tell you how terribly sorry I am for the things I did to you. _

_If you don't believe it, open the box and see. _

_Forever yours. _

_House. _

She reread the letter over again, and again. She dropped the letter on the table, and tried to suppress the tears that threatened to fall every minute. She took a deep breath and eyed the box, which stood unopened on the kitchen counter.

She finally grabbed a knife and tore the seal away. She stared at the contents with a mixture of curiosity and dread.

The insides of the box were filled with handwritten letters. All of them had his handwriting on.

Without thinking she closed the box, and carried it into her bedroom.

She couldn't read them, not when she was so emotionally unbalanced. She didn't need this right now. She placed the box in the bottom of her closet, and slammed the door behind her, and then she dropped on the floor and cried for the first time in a year.

The next day she received the news that House would be released on Monday the next week, it was the same date that had been written on the paper. This time she was sure that everything was hid doing. He had paid someone to put the flowers on the table with the note. Then he sent her another note telling her when he would be released.

It made her hate him even more.

It occurred to her to run away, but she finally decided against it. But she knew that she didn't want to let Rachel get involved with it, and sent her off to her mothers to stay for a couple of days, much to her daughter's annoyance.

But surprisingly he didn't show up to her home, and she had been sure that this was all just a huge overreaction on her part. That was until she heard the sound of breaking glass, and she had known that she wasn't alone.

She should have listened to her gut and gone somewhere far away, but her curiosity, and thirst to see him again had clouded her mind. She was so vulnerable when it came to him. So unbelievably weak and exposed, and she knew that he would always do this to her. She shouldn't have stayed. She should have listened to her fears, then she wouldn't be in this situation.

Cuddy sighed heavily and placed her head on her knees. Her jumbled thoughts tried to answer the countless questions she had on her mind, but she couldn't for the life of her figure things out.

What would House do?

She hadn't meant to think about it, but somehow that question had invaded her mind, and she clung to it with dear life. She knew that he would try to gather the facts, and dissect what was true and what wasn't.

But her mind was too jumbled up to realize the difference. The only thing she knew for sure was that if she wouldn't get out of there soon, she would never get out of there at all.


	7. Light and Shadows

A/N: Has it been a month!? I rarely lose track of time but August has been crazy. I went to Italy, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to write at all during my trip. Three days after I came back I had a serious food poisoning, or something, and was sick for twelve days. Now that school season is starting I had my mind on other things then I looked at my calendar and thought, when did I update my story? Needless to say I was shocked how fast time had passed. I admit that I'm a slow writer, but I never intended to take so long with this chapter.

Also thank you so much for the reviews for chapter five. I was so glad and relieved how well you're all taking this story. I was so scared to post it up but now I'm so glad, and I hope that this chapter won't disappoint.

By the way, the little person is still chastising me for being a slow updater. I'll try to listen to her more in the future.

* * *

**-Chapter Six-**

**Light and Shadows**

The world was an intangible mist of light and shadows. It was like every sound had been sucked out, and he was alone in this dark void.

Thump, thump, thump.

The sound of his heartbeat was the first thing that broke through the void. Then he could feel every sense come to life, and he could hear and feel the loud, and raw world around him.

"Can you hear me?" He heard someone say. His eye was forced open and he saw a flicker of light through the darkness.

"He's responding." Came another voice.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes voluntarily and saw two blurry figures in front of him. He closed his eyes and opened them again to regain focus. He blinked his eyes into the shiny bright light. He heard the beeping of the heart monitor beside him, and saw out of the corner of his eye the IV bag dangling by his side. His vision flickered slightly but he soon regained more consciousness and realized his surroundings. One of the paramedics hovered over him, his brown eyes watching his carefully. The other one was holding a needle, and suddenly he felt a pinch in his left arm. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

_What the hell happened? _He thought to himself.

He could remember traces; flashes of light, sirens in the distance, screaming people. His eyes shot open as he remembered. He had been driving on his motorcycle and….oh god…Cuddy.

His eyes shot open and he tried to sit up. A firm hand pressed against his chest to prevent him from moving. He stared angrily at the paramedic who had stopped him. He grit his teeth and ignored the searing pain in his leg.

"Sir, please calm down."

"I need to get out of here." His voice came out in a mumble. The paramedic looked at him as if he were mad.

"Sir, we need to take you to the hospital. We're just about five minutes away." He tried to say calmly.

"I don't need to go to a hospital. I'm a doctor." He assured him and tried to release himself from his grip.

"As a doctor you know that you need to go through a check up. You could have severe internal bleeding or… sir, if you would please lay back down…"

He pleaded when House started to break through his grip and raise himself up in a sitting position. He may be a cripple, but he was strong.

He managed to stand up when the other paramedic started to grab his arms, while the other tried to fumble for a sedative.

"I need you to stop the ambulance." He said angrily.

"Sir, please, calm down."

"I _need_ to get out of here." He barked back.

He had been so focused on getting out that he had almost forgotten the other paramedic. With surprising speed he turned to the side and watched as the paramedic was pushing the liquid into the IV line. He started to resist but he was too late. He could feel the influence as the chemicals ran through his circulation, making his body go limp. He was eased onto the gurney. He was strapped against the gurney in case he was going to attempt escape again. That brought back horrible memories, memories he wished he could erase forever.

"You've got to be kidding me." He mumbled through dry lips.

The vehicle stopped and the doors were torn open. He was carried out of the ambulance and into the sunny air. His stomach sunk when he noticed where he was.

Before him was his former working place, and hospital. He wanted to sink into the earth and never return.

Thankfully he didn't recognize the team that came running towards him, and they didn't seem to recognize him either.

"50 year old male, plausible head trauma, or internal bleeding. Suffers from cuts, and open wounds."

He wanted to roll his eyes. He was _fine, _and they were making his life worse by the minute. He almost wished that he were back in prison; at least he was spared from the hellhole that was Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

He was rolled into the ER. He looked at the young faces of the doctors and realized that they were med students. Great, just what he needed, incompetent, egoistic pinheads that cared more about their precious reputation rather than real medicine. And they wondered why he refused to teach.

"Let's get a CT scan of his head." One of them, a petite blonde with red-rimmed glasses and a lab coat that was one size too small, piped up.

"Hold on! Why take a scan of his head when he could obviously have internal bleeding?" An Asian intern piped up.

"Or…" A dark haired self-assured girl remarked, "we could just get a whole body exam and there wouldn't be a problem."

"Or, you idiots could give me some Vicodin and take this stupid bondage off."

Three heads looked down at him in unison. He raised his eyebrows and stared them down defiantly.

"Excuse me sir," the self-assured one said, "we can't release you until you have been under a medical exam. It's the rules."

"Yeah, you're right." He sighed, and raised himself into a sitting position. "If it says so in the rules it must be right." He said sarcastically.

The girl frowned and looked at him cynically.

"Do I know you?"

"No." He rejected.

"I swear that I've seen you somewhere." She said and folded her arms over her chest, and tilted her head to the side.

"Oh my god you're Dr. House!" The Asian guy cried out.

"Shh, would you keep you're voice down." He said through gritted teeth.

"Aren't you supposed to be in prison?" The skinny blonde asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be in kindergarten?"

The blonde stared at him with a confused expression on her face.

"Why should we release you?" The brunette required.

"Isn't it obvious?" Asian stated before House could speak. "He obviously doesn't want to be here. You've heard what he did." He whispered and looked at House nervously.

"So. He's still a patient." Brunette stated firmly.

"Yeah, but he's also a doctor. He obviously knows what he's talking about."

"What if the reason he wants to get out because he escaped prison or something, like in _The Shawshank Redemption_." Blondie muttered.

"What?" Brunette looked at her incredulously. "Are you serious? He wants to get out because he doesn't want to be seen here. I mean, considering recent events…" She trailed off in a half whisper.

Her words brought him back to reality, and he tried to remove the leather straps that had been strapped across his body leaving him completely unable to move. He finally gave up and sighed. He glared at Asian who quickly started to unbuckle the straps. Too bad brunette stopped him midway.

"What do you think you're doing?" She inquired.

Asian opened his mouth, and closed it again. He looked at blondie helplessly.

"He's still our patient. I don't care who or what he is, he's under our care, and he isn't going anywhere."

"Who says you're in charge?" Blondie demanded aggravated.

"Well…uh." She started to laugh nervously. "I think it's kind of obvious…" She trailed off when the other two glared at her. Blondie rolled her eyes and unfastened the other strap. House swung his legs over the gurney, and oh so slowly lowered his feet to the floor. He barely stood on his feet, but he managed, with the help from the two more helpful interns, to gain his balance.

"Thanks." He grumbled and grabbed his cane.

He started to walk away without giving the three interns a second glance, but he stopped in his tracks. He turned around and saw that they stood rooted on the spot. He limped back to them and stopped in front of brunette.

"Can you tell me who is the head of Diagnostics?"

To his great disappointment he saw confusion cross the interns faces.

"There isn't a Diagnostics department here." Brunette said.

"Not anymore." An all to familiar voice boomed behind him. House almost flinched, and turned around slowly.

There he was, his best friend and brother in crime, James Wilson.

"Wow, you haven't aged a day!" He exclaimed.

"Cut the crap House." Wilson snapped. He looked unhappily at him, and he could swear that he could detect a trace of disappointment in his eyes. He turned to the three internes that hadn't moved a muscle.

"Don't you have better things to do?"

Brunette blushed, muttered her apologies and darted off. The other two gave them curious glances and took their time to walk away.

Wilson turned to House who was leaning quite heavily on his cane. Sweat formed on his brow from the effort of keeping his body upright. He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the burning in his leg.

"This must be a record, even for you. It has not been twenty four hours since you got out of jail, and you manage to get yourself into trouble." Wilson's voice was angry, mirroring his expression. House didn't say anything. His gaze focused on the floor, and he felt like the world was spinning around him.

He felt a hand on his arm, and blindly he was half dragged towards a chair. He slumped down and breathed out heavily. He looked up at his friend with thankful eyes but Wilson wouldn't have any of it. He could see something in his friend's eyes that he had never seen before, and he just knew that things would never be the same again. He was a fool to even think that things could return back to normal, not after everything that happened.

After several seconds of silence Wilson sighed and dropped his arms to his side.

"I honestly don't know what to say, and frankly I don't care anymore."

"Then why did you come here?" House insisted.

Wilson stared at him dumbfounded.

"Why did you come here to see me if you don't want anything to do with me."

"Old habit I guess." Wilson sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Look. Now is not a good time. I don't know whether you heard but…"

"I know." House said harshly.

Wilson stared at him then lowered his head.

"Then you must know that your presence might not be welcomed given the circumstances."

"I didn't do it." His voice burst out before he could stop himself.

"I didn't say you did!"

"Right. You just looked at me with those accusing eyes of yours that tell me that you do think that I had something to do with this."

Wilson's eyes flashed with such intense anger that shut him up instantly.

"I know that you're capable of many things, good and bad, but it never crossed my mind that you could do such a horrible thing, never."

The ferocity of his tone dumbfounded him, and he was yet again speechless of his friend's loyalty. Things might never be the same between them, but he would never doubt his friend again.

"We're all in shock, and we're all afraid. I know that you care, but I just can't…" Wilson trailed off and shook his head, but he didn't have to say anything, House knew the words that went unsaid. He stood up and leaned against his cane.

"I think I should go." He muttered.

Wilson looked away from him and stared at the wall behind him.

"I think you should."

House looked at his friend, hopelessly trying to get any reaction from him, but Wilson kept his gaze frozen on the white wall.

Finally he turned around and stepped away. A hand on his arm stopped him in his steps.

"Wait."

Wilson picked up a prescription pad from his coat pocket and scribbled on it before he ripped it off and thrust the piece of paper into his hand.

House looked at the paper, and looked up to meet Wilson's eyes.

"Thanks." He muttered.

"You're welcome."

House turned around, and this time he didn't linger. He walked past doctors and nurses whose faces disappeared in the crowd.

He stepped into the sunny street and inhaled the humid air. He stared at the piece of paper that lay crumbled up in his hand, and put it into the pocket of his jeans, and limped away from the red brick building that stood proudly behind him. If it were up to him he would never return.

* * *

It was dark when he opened the door to his apartment. He flicked on the light switch, and stepped into his living room, his walking slightly wobbling. He sank onto his couch and placed his head in his hands. This day felt more like a dream than a reality, and he almost expected to wake up, still in his prison cell. Somehow that didn't sound bad at all. He would rather wake up and realize that he was still in prison rather than know that the events of the day were reality.

He grabbed the hairs by his temples and pulled slightly just to feel anything else than the horrible feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly he felt awfully lonely. Wilson had turned his back on him, not that he blamed him, but still…

House sighed, he was drunk, and tired, perhaps sleep wasn't a bad idea. He heaved himself off the couch and stumbled into his bedroom. He shrugged off his jacket, which was grimy with blood and dirt. He frowned and decided that maybe he should get a new jacket. He dug his hands into the pockets and dug up the contents; his keys, phone, a bottle of Vicodin, and some receipts he had forgotten.

He dropped his jacket into the bin where he had thrown away his old clothes that very morning. Suddenly he remembered something, a memory that was slightly hazy in his drunken haze, but he could swear that there was something he should remember. His eyes spotted the phone on the counter, and suddenly he remembered, someone else had called him that morning. He could just as well check who it was while he remembered.

He picked up his phone and dialed the pin to check on his voicemail. He started to unbuckle his belt while he waited for the message. The loud beep echoed in his ear before the message played.

"House."

The blood froze in his veins when he heard her voice in his ear. His face paled as if he had seen a ghost.

"If this is you then you're doing a pretty darn good job scaring me." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"House…. if this isn't you…" She inhaled sharply. "House, just pick up the phone." Her voice was urgent, the terror evident in her tone.

"I think that someone's breaking in…House please-" Her plea was cut off, her time was over.

He stood stock-still, his face pale, and his unblinking gaze frozen. His hand grasped the phone so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

Her words echoed in his mind. '_House please_…'

Then his senses came crushing down in a huge wave, and he snapped the phone shut and tossed it across the room. A loud crack shattered the silence as the phone hit the floor and shattered on the hard wood.

He could feel his vision blur, and he fell on the edge of the bed, and clenched his fists against his forehead.

She had called him, and he hadn't answered. He would have been able to save her.

_She had called him. _

His breathing was labored, and the only thing he could think of was her pleading voice.

_She had called him. _

He let out a heart-wrenching scream that contained his fear and rage. He balled his hands in a fist, and hit the edge of the bed. The reality of the situation hit him full force, and something within his snapped.

He stood up off the bed, and without realizing what he was doing he had crashed his cane against the contents on his dresser. Items broke and fell on the ground.

After he had destroyed everything in his reach he stopped and watched the destruction with hazy eyes.

His breathing came out in hollow breaths. His cane dropped from his limp fingers, and clattered against the hardwood floor. He sank to the floor and drew his legs up to his chest, and buried his head in the palm of his hands. He felt fear he had only once felt in his life, and he realized the horrible truth; he couldn't live without her.

No matter how much he hated her. No matter what had happened between them in the past, he knew that he couldn't live with the pain of losing her. Losing her was his worst fear, and he was living it right now. He couldn'tlose her. He _wouldn't _lose her.

He had to get her back. He had to.


	8. Family Business

A/N: I want to thank the reviewers since last chapter. You're continuous support, and kind words are very much appreciated.

I hope you all haven't forgotten about old Maximilian Archibald from chapter one, because now we're moving to other grounds. Remember, this is bigger than just House and Cuddy, and I hope you like this chapter.

I want to mention that even though this chapter does not include any of the original characters it is important regarding the storyline, so don't skip it just because House and Cuddy aren't in it, because the events in this chapter will affect both of them in the long run.

Thank you all so much for reading, and don't be shy to leave a review.

* * *

_**-Chapter Seven-**_

_**Family Business**_

_Archibald & Smith_

_Fifth Avenue, New York. _

Elizabeth walked swiftly through the familiar hallway of the firm on that beautiful Monday morning. Her expensive heels clacked against the tiled floor loudly and surely, the signature red sole on her heels peeking out with each step. She was the image of the quintessential successful woman, sure, confident, and poised. Her tall body moved swiftly, her navy dress framed her thin frame. Her dark locks were elegantly swept up in a French twist on the back of her head.

Her facial features were long and thin, her high cheekbones, and full lips drew the attention from the pointiness of her nose, which she had always considered to be her most disagreeable feature. Her sharp blue eyes were one of the most distinguished part of her face, the blue ovals looked like the sky on a fresh spring morning against her lily-white skin.

On the exterior she seemed perfectly calm, nodding her head to greet co-workers as she swept down the hall with a pleasant smile plastered on her red painted lips.

On the inside she was seething, the burning hot temper she had for many years tried to suppress threatened to strike at any moment. She was a ticking bomb, and those who knew her best knew that it was best to leave her alone when she was in _that _mood.

Unfortunately her new assistant, Benjamin Florentine, a newly graduated Princeton student, was not familiar with her sudden outbursts, and when she walked inside her grand office space, slamming the door shut, he did the last thing he was supposed to do. He greeted her with a smile on his handsome features, clearly not noticing his boss's lack of interest.

"Miss Archibald. Chief Detective Lionel Harris from the New Jersey State Police is on the phone. He said it's urgent." He said politely while covering the speaking side of the phone with his hand.

Elizabeth stood stock still for a minute, counting inwardly to ten; she only reached three before the bomb went off.

"Did he now?" She said with a silkily smooth voice. "I don't care if it's urgent. I have a meeting with a client in ten minutes, and I don't have time for his shit." Her face had turned red, and her voice pitched up with each word. Benjamin sat crestfallen in his chair. His mouth dropped and his eyes widened out in fear.

"You can tell Chief Detective Harris that I will have his ass fired if he won't stop messing with us, and do his freaking job. If he won't I'll make sure that he won't get a single job on the east coast ever again!"

With that she stormed into her office and slammed the door shut with considerable force. Her assistant sat frozen with the telephone still by his ear. With thin, shaky fingers he wiped sweat that had formed on his upper lip, and exhaled shakily before he placed the phone back by his ear.

"I'm sorry sir, but miss Archibald is quite busy at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?" He muttered politely, his eyes showing his distress.

Behind the now firmly closed doors was an elaborate office that was one of the finest in the building. The room showed impeccable taste with its fine and sumptuous furniture that was skillfully settled over the spacious room.

Elizabeth took a seat behind her ornate walnut desk, slamming the rest of the files she had been carrying onto the fine surface of the table. She opened the top file scanning the page quickly, but her thoughts wouldn't concentrate on the fine print. She groaned out loud and placed her elbows on the table resting her face in the palms of her hands that were involuntarily shaking. She tried to calm herself down, thinking what her therapist had said, but it didn't work. Clearly the five hundred dollars an hour appointments were waste of time and money.

Her thoughts kept coming back to the same contemplation on why Chief Detective Harris was calling her now, and what had been so urgent that it couldn't wait. She neither had the time nor energy to deal with it. She tried to concentrate on her breathing. She took a deep breath and held it in for few seconds before letting it out.

_You're name is Elizabeth Jane Archibald, and everything is going to be all right. _

She repeated the familiar string of words over and over again in her head.

She groaned out loud and slammed her hands on the table in frustration. This wasn't working. She eyed her watch wearily, and let out another sigh.

This day was not taking a good turn, not at all. She had a meeting with Mr. Jacobs, an old client of her father's who was a big pain in the ass. It did not make matters better that he was not happy with the new alterations of his representatives, making things as hard as he could for them.

Her father, Maximilian Archibald, was one of the most successful lawyers and businessman in Manhattan, his company Archibald & Smith was ranked the second best firm in the City, and sixth in the whole state. Mr. Jacobs had been one of her father's first clients, and had remained so for the last forty years.

Needless to say Mr. Jacobs, an eighty-something-year-old investment banker, who Elizabeth preferred to call the soul sucking devil from hell, had not been happy when his friend and advocate had suddenly passed the torch to his daughter.

Today would be the fifth meeting with him in the same month, and Elizabeth was sure that he was deliberately trying to kill her oh so slowly and painfully with his endless queries.

Then to put the cherry on top of this all too dreadful morning Chief Detective Harris, of all people, had decided to make a call. He hadn't contacted them for months, and he had to pick that day just to remind her, yet again, how horrible this past year had been for her, and her family. She didn't need a reminder that next Friday would be exactly one year since she got that horrible phone call that had changed her life forever.

She felt horrible tightness in her chest. Her sister's face appeared in her mind, her sister who was only five minutes younger than she was, the sister who was so eerily alike her that she could barely look at her image in the mirror without being reminded of the horrible circumstances of her disappearance.

The knot tightened like an invisible snare had been ensnared around her neck.

She tried to divert her thoughts to something else, like the truckload of work she needed to do, but the image of her sister, probably trapped somewhere, all alone, was glued to her mind with superglue. She tried to shake that horrible feeling away, but the images only got worse, she could almost see the terror in her sister's eyes. Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to her.

What if they had found her? What if her sister truly was dead?

She shook her head firmly chastising herself for thinking such thoughts. Her sister was _not _dead. But there was a devious voice that nagged her core, what if she was?

_Elizabeth snap out of it, _her mind shouted. She needed to focus, and go on with her life. She picked up one of the files and scribbled quickly few notes for the meeting. She glanced at her watch again, and realized that the meeting would start in five minutes. She stood up from the leather chair and strode towards the door.

She walked outside her office and shot a fleeting glance at her assistant who had almost jumped out of his seat when she barged outside the door.

"Miss Archibald, I am truly sorry but a Harry Dwight with the F.B.I. just called."

Elizabeth froze in her tracks, her heart beating faster.

"He demanded to speak with you, and he said…" Benjamin gulped then continued. "He said that he didn't care whether you fired his…ass, and if you refused to speak with him you should turn on the news and see for yourself." He murmured before adding quickly in defense. "I told him that you were on a meeting, but he didn't listen. I swear."

Elizabeth stood frozen on the spot, the wheels turning in her head. If Harry Dwight had called then something serious was wrong. Elizabeth remembered her first acquaintance with him, he was a man of few principles, he didn't follow the rules and he didn't care as long as everything went his way. She wasn't fond of his uncivil ways but she didn't care as long as they found her sister. She had only met the man couple of times after that, which meant that if he was personally calling her then something was incredibly wrong.

"Miss Archibald?" Benjamin's anxious voice brought her back to reality.

"Call Robert and tell him that I'll be few minutes late." She said, and stepped back into her office. She closed the door shut and marched towards her desk. She stretched her hand to pick up the phone but froze in mid air.

She took a steady breath, and tried to calm herself before she picked up the phone and dialed the number she had memorized. She waited a few rings until a gruff voice murmured.

"I'm glad you decided to swallow your arrogance and pick up the phone."

Elizabeth sneered; she knew that she and her family hadn't exactly been on good terms with the police, and the F.B.I. Her father hadn't exactly been happy with their methods. The whole affair had been hard on her family, especially her father.

"What do you want? The last time you called you said that you were retreating the search for my sister, I assume you're now calling me to tell me that you've given up on her case and have declared her officially dead, am I correct?" She said coldly.

"I'm afraid that you're not far from it Ms. Archibald. There has been another victim."

Elizabeth froze. Another victim? Why hadn't she been informed?

"So you think she's dead, because they found another victim." It was a statement not a question.

"I'm not saying that she is, but she has been missing for almost a year now, and compared to his MO he doesn't hold them for longer than a year."

"But this isn't consistent with his MO. I have done my research, and he has never taken another victim before he disposed himself of his other victim. He doesn't take two victims at a time." She argued. "Are you sure this is your guy?"

"Ms. Archibald do I have to remind you again that you're not a police detective, or an F.B.I. agent. I know that you care deeply for your sister, and want her back, but you have to allow us to do our job. I assure you that we're very well capable."

His voice wasn't exactly comforting, and she knew that he didn't care what she thought of them.

"It doesn't appear like that to me. You have five dead victims of this monster, and two that haven't been located yet. I'm afraid that it doesn't appear like that from my viewpoint." She reminded him.

"Ms. Archibald, I didn't call to banter with you. I called you to tell you that we have officially reduced the search for your sister. We have not declared her deceased, but the other victim will remain our priority. We have not given up on your sister."

"You're basically saying that you think she's dead…don't you?" She took a shaky breath before she continued. "My sister is not dead until you find her dead body. I refuse to allow you to give up on her. She is still alive. She's out there somewhere, hoping that someone is looking for her. How dare you sit there and tell me that you've given up on her when she's still out there! How can you live with yourself?" She knew that she was walking over the line, but she didn't care, not at this point. She had nothing to lose.

"Ms. Archibald." Agent Dwight's voice had softened. "We haven't given up on your sister."

"Then what are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is that you should be prepared for the worst."

He could just as well have slapped her in the face.

"Goodbye Agent Dwight." She muttered coolly and ended the call. She buried her head in her shaky hands, and tried to rid herself of the horrible thoughts.

Elizabeth's lips trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She was not going to cry. She forced the tears back, and opened her eyes.

She didn't know what to tell her family. The disappearance of her sister had left a huge gap in her family. Her brother, Victor, had retreated to Paris to corporate their facilities there. Her mother had been diagnosed with cancer shortly after her sister's disappearance, and her health was gradually decreasing. And her father, her father had retreated in a shell that no one could break through. He locked himself in his office and stayed there for hours. He had entitled to her most of his clients, although he still hadn't retreated from the company it was on everyone's lips that he would soon step off his mantle and leave the company in her hands. She was more than capable of that task, but it unnerved her to no end that her father, a man who had been such a force of nature, had so easily given up on everything in his life. It was like he had disappeared with her sister, and she wasn't sure whether she would ever see that man again.

Elizabeth sighed. She had to tell them sooner or later, and it was best to get it over with. She stood up, and straightened her dress; she opened the door and glared at her assistant.

"Cancel the meeting with Mr. Jacobs."

"But he is already here." Benjamin protested.

"Cancel the meeting." She said through gritted teeth.

"Yes ma'am." He said and took up the phone.

Elizabeth strode down the hall, towards her father's office. She always felt a slight nostalgia when she came into his office. Ever since she was little she had looked at him with star struck eyes. She was five when she decided that she was going to work with her father when she grew older.

"Elizabeth."

The sound of her name interrupted her thoughts, and she turned around abruptly, and saw the familiar figure of her co-worker storm towards her. Robert Smith was the son of Nathan Smith, the co-founder of Archibald & Smith, and had already created quite the reputation. He had acquired many great clients, and his ever-growing reputation was providing him with clients many daren't even dream of working for.

Robert was tall, and incredibly handsome. His dark wavy hair was combed back exposing his high cheekbones, and jawline. His dark brown eyes bore into hers defiantly. Robert was a force to be reckoned with if he was angry.

"Can you tell me why you suddenly decided to cancel the meeting with Mr. Jacobs? We were finally getting through to him, and now we're back to square one."

"I'm sorry Robert, but I have to talk to my father. It's a matter of great urgency." She stated impatiently, and started to walk away.

"Is everything all right?" His voice had changed from aggravation to concern.

"No. I'm afraid not. It's about Lily."

Robert's face hardened when she mentioned her sister's name. Her sister's disappearance had been a shock to many, especially to the Smith's who were so close to her family.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't." She muttered and stopped in front of the magnificent wooden doors that led to her father's office. She knocked on the door three times to announce her presence. She knocked again when her father didn't answer.

Elizabeth frowned and jiggled the handle, but the door was locked. That door was _never _locked.

"Dad. It's Eliza, I need to speak with you." She called through the door, but he didn't answer.

"Is everything all right?" Robert said behind her.

She didn't answer him right away and knocked on the door.

"Dad are you in there?"

No answer. She could have sworn seeing him enter the door. She knocked with more force.

"Dad. Are you in there?" She asked again. She turned to Robert.

"Did you see my father today?"

Robert shook his head.

"No. He didn't show up at the ten o'clock meeting. I was surprised, he never misses it."

Elizabeth felt panic, and knocked again. She crouched down and checked through the keyhole. She could barely see anything through the tiny hole, except for her father's desk and…

She gasped out loud and squinted her eyes. She could have sworn that she saw something on the left, dangling feet.

She yanked at the door and yelled at Robert to get something to open the door. He didn't question her and rushed away.

"Dad." She cried and slammed her fists on the door.

"Elizabeth step aside." Robert instructed. She turned around and saw him carry a fire distinguisher. She moved away and watched him crash it into the door with force. The door cracked slightly but didn't open. He went again and this time it splintered open with force. He managed to gain his balance but cried out in horror when he saw the scene inside.

She watched the scene with horror. From the ceiling her father hung with a snare around his neck. His blue eyes stared at her, dead and cold, his mouth agape. The skin around his neck was red from the rope, his head lolling in an odd angle to the side. The tip of his black leather shoes touched the wooden chair that was knocked on the side.

She didn't think, her instincts kicking in. She grasped the next pointy thing and picked the nearest chair, she hopped on the chair and cut down the rope. Her father fell on the ground with a heavy thud. She didn't wait for Robert to react who stood crestfallen by the door, his face pale.

She crouched down by her father's side and tried to find any sign of a pulse or any indication that he was alive. She didn't find any. She began to compress down on his chest, pushing it down with force. A loud crack rang through the room when his rib broke. She didn't care. She pushed back and forth with even beats.

"Call an ambulance now!" She yelled at no one in particular. She heard shifting of feet but didn't care what was happening. She had to save him, he couldn't die, not like this. She counted in her head to thirty, her hair falling in her face.

"Elizabeth." She ignored the voice and kept going.

"Elizabeth." A hand touched her shoulder.

"No." She said forcefully. She wasn't going to give up.

"He's gone Elizabeth."

"No." She shook her head and bit her lips forcefully, keeping her hands pressed down. The hand tightened on her shoulder.

"Elizabeth!" The voice was firm, and unyielding.

"His neck is broken. He's gone."

She looked at his neck and shook her head in denial. Her father wasn't dead.

Two hands touched her elbows to stop her. A sob escaped her lips and she stopped. She fell back and sat on the floor. Tears clouded her eyes, and she pushed her palms against her face. Someone pulled her closer and touched her hair.

She heard rather than saw the paramedics arrive. She watched in daze as they hovered over his body, and wrapped him in white sheets, and took him away. She was helped into a chair, and someone had placed a cup of tea in front of her, which she refused to touch. She watched the office in daze, her mind frozen in place.

She stood up, and walked over to her father's desk. She ran her hand against the smooth surface, and touched every curve of the wood as her eyes drew in the sight before her. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She could spot the usual paperwork that was in an organized pile, alongside his pen collection. Her eyes roamed over the picture frames that adorned his desk. She turned her face quickly away from the pictures, and turned her eyes to the empty glass of scotch, and the white envelope that lay innocently by the glass.

She froze when she noticed that her name was written on it with her father's cursive. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the letters before she tore it open. At first she thought it was empty until her fingertips touched something hard and irregular. She picked up the small item, and stared at it in bewilderment. It was a key.

She frowned and looked at the envelope if there was any note or indication to what the key belonged to.

"Elizabeth." She looked up and saw Robert stand in the doorway.

"Yes."

"The police are here. They have to evacuate the floor in search of evidence."

"Can you tell them that I just need few minutes."

"All right." He muttered and disappeared.

She stood up and strode to the door and locked it behind her. She stared at the key in her hands and looked around the room. Her father left the key there on purpose, knowing that she would find it. He wouldn't have left it there without explanation if he knew that she would figure out where it went.

She went for the drawers on his desk, but the key didn't go to any of the drawers.

"Ms. Archibald." Someone called on the other side of the door. Her head darted to the door, and she roamed around the office in frenzy.

There was a loud knock on the door, and a firm voice called out her name.

She darted towards the bookcase that lined the wall, and fumbled through the books in search for something, anything that could hide a safe or a secret compartment.

Elizabeth froze when a thought occurred to her. She looked down at the key, and turned her head to the other end of the room where her father stored his safe.

She turned the key in her hand and cursed her stupidity. Of course it belonged to the safe. She ignored the noises outside and placed the key into the lock, but noticed with great dismay that it also had a security lock, and she didn't know the numbers. On a wild guess she put her sister's date of birth, and turned the key. To her relief the door to the safe opened. She didn't hesitate and grabbed the white envelope inside and closed the safe.

"If you don't open now we will force it open."

Elizabeth opened the door, and watched the group of police officers who stared at her in shock.

"Excuse me." She muttered, and watched the police officer gape after her. She walked surely down the hallway, and clasped the envelope tightly in her hand.

She held her breath until she reached the elevator and watched the doors shut. She stared at the white envelope, not sure what to think.

She wasn't sure what her father had left her, but she hoped that it would give her answers to questions that were burning through her mind.


	9. She is Me

A/N: Huge thanks to everyone that read, and reviewed since the last chapter.

I said it before, and I'll say it again, I'm not a Police Officer nor a psychologist or criminologist. What I know comes from research, and the media, but I really try to make this as believable as I can. Every mistake is of course my own, and I apologize in advance if there are any errors.

I wanted to try something new with this chapter, and I hope it works. I'm always trying to find interesting new ways in storytelling, and I really hope that my latest experiment works.

Thanks for reading.

* * *

_**-Chapter Eight-**_

_**She Is Me**_

_Westcott Road. _

_Princeton, New Jersey. _

For thirty years Chief Detective Lionel Harris had seen many things. He had seen the darkest pits of the underworld where fifteen year olds were found dead on the streets. He had seen women so brutally raped that their lives would never be the same again. He had witnessed the aftermath of a massacre in a local mall, where thirty-two people had been killed, and twelve severely injured; the defendant was a nineteen-year-old college student. He had seen all the horrors of society. Witnessed things that people couldn't imagine, because people so strongly believed that such horrible things didn't exist. Sure. They knew about drugs, rapists, murderers, but they didn't know how close that world was to them, and how brutal and ugly it was.

Chief Detective Lionel Harris thought that he had seen it all, that was until five years ago. He could remember that day like it was yesterday.

It was early September and the fall was beginning to show its color. Children were walking home from school, and people went on with their everyday lives. He could still remember the smell of pine magnify as the pouring rain seeped through the branches. He had stepped out of his car and walked up the drive to the victim's home. He had been curious to know why he had been called to a missing persons case since his expertise was in violent crimes. His answer was soon answered when he stepped into her home, and witnessed the horror with his own eyes. Six months later Amber Lanford was found murdered.

Now, five years later, he felt a sense of déjà vu when he stepped out of his police car like he had done those years ago, and watched the familiar scene before him. The day was hot and humid, so unlike that rainy day in September. Being early June it felt more like the end of July, and he anticipated a warm summer. He approached the officers that guarded the yellow tape that prevented any unwanted trespassers. He showed them his badge and stepped under the tape. He watched the beautiful house in front of him and noted that on the outside nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He walked up the well-manicured lane, towards the group of police officers that talked in hushed voices, as if their voices alone would corrupt the scene. One of them looked up when he approached.

"Ah. Chief Detective, you've arrived. Captain Bill Anderson." He introduced himself. They shook hands. His grip was firm and strong. The Captain was a large man, about 6'5 he towered well over Harris.

"Thank you for coming. This is way beyond our expertise..." He lowered his voice. "I have to say that I really don't know where to begin. We have started a search, but we don't know what the hell we're facing…I mean, I've never seen anything like this before."

"I understand Captain. These cases are, fortunately, rare."

Captain Anderson dried his forehead, the sweat dripped from his blonde hair, and his pink face was set in a deep frown.

"I'm afraid that we don't have many witnesses. The neighbors complained about loud noise, but they say that they didn't see anything. The officer on watch was the first on the scene." He shook his head wearily. "The poor guy's a mess."

The Captain's eyes roamed over his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed, a nervous glint appeared in his eyes.

"I think the feds are here."

Harris turned around just in time to see the familiar Agents cross the yellow tape. He had worked with the F.B.I. several times, but his contact with Harry Dwight and his team had been consistent over the five-year period. In that time he had become fairly familiar with their methods and work, and was very fascinated with their work.

"Chief Detective." Harry acknowledged Harris, and shook his hand firmly.

"I'm Captain Bill Anderson. We spoke on the phone."

"I'm S.S.A. Dwight, and these are S.S.A's Spencer, Martinez, and York." He introduced each member of his team. The Captain shook each of their hands.

"Thank you for coming. The forensic team is still gathering evidence. We haven't changed or moved anything."

The Captain opened the door to the house. Harris could feel the dreadful chill run through his spine. He had been through this six times before, and he knew what they were about to face. He followed the agents inside.

The house was deadly silent. The lights were turned off, but the natural light illuminated the hallway. The floor was covered with broken glass, and frames that had been crushed to the floor.

"Broken glass. The same pattern." Agent Martinez noted. She crouched down and picked up a shard with a latex clad hand. She placed the fragment into a plastic bag.

"For our Lab Rats. We have a wider range of data in our labs." She explained.

"What does this mean?" Captain Anderson asked, and gestured towards the shards on the floor, while he observed Martinez curiously. The agents looked at each other, their gazes meaningful. It was Agent York that began to speak.

"We believe that the murderer has a major self-conflict. He is so troubled by his own image that he can't face himself, so he breaks everything that could reflect his image." Agent York explained. His eyes skimmed over the broken shards.

"You think he feels remorse?" Anderson's eyebrows rose.

"No." Harry muttered darkly. "That man feels no remorse." He turned around and continued to walk down the hallway.

"We thought at first that it was the case, but now we believe that it's not he but someone else he is disturbed by. Someone he resembles." Agent York explained.

Harris had always admired his great insight, and he was more patient than the others to explain in depth what they were thinking.

They were careful to avoid stepping on the glass in case there was any evidence on the sharp shards. Suddenly he heard it, and almost froze in his tracks. It was low, and almost nonexistent but it was there. The smooth tones were taunting, almost beckoning them to come forwards. As they got closer he could trace the slow, light tuned of the strings under the haunting voices floating above the familiar melody.

"Ah. Requiem."

"Excuse me?" Anderson glanced at Agent York who walked behind him. They had approached the bedroom door.

"It's a hymn from the 13th century. Mozart used the text in his last composition."

"I know what it is, but why? Why does he pick this piece? What does it mean?"

"It means that this is no ordinary murderer." Harry quipped with a tone that indicated that he wished for silence. He closed his eyes and stepped forwards. Harris wasn't sure what he was thinking but he could make a wild guess and decipher that he was stepping into the murderer's shoes.

"Captain."

Harry's eyes snapped open and he turned around angrily. An officer walked over to Captain Anderson.

"We need you."

He could almost hear the sound of air leave the Captain's lungs in relief.

"Well, I'll leave this in your hands." Anderson said, and wiped a sweat off his forehead. Harris knew that it wasn't only from the heat.

Anderson stepped away, and disappeared out of the hallway, his steps quick and sure.

"Is that why you were talking to that Officer outside?" Martinez scowled at Spencer whose feigned ignorance couldn't be hid by his smiling eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Jeremy, please. I saw you tip him off. You know, this is really unprofessional."

"Diana he was about to faint. I thought it would give us some privacy, and frankly he seemed relieved so it's a win win for everyone."

Martinez looked unhappy but didn't reply because of the angry glare Harry was shooting at them. They quit their bantering, and focused on Harry who had his hand on the doorknob. The door opened with a creak, and they walked into the bright room.

The music was at its peak, and drummed in his ears, he would have appreciated it if it hadn't been through this room of terror. A warm breeze rushed through the open window. White lace curtains billowed in the wind in circular motions.

He took the scene in, his eyes searching, trying to focus his mind out of the chaos: imagining what the kidnapper had been thinking, trying to step into his shoes.

He passed a broken chair that lay on its back by a wooden dresser. He was careful to avoid the shattered pieces of glass that once hung whole in the gilded frame above the dresser. He stopped opposite the bed that stood sideways on the floor; the wooden posts around the mattress had been broken off and lay scattered on the floor in splinters. The covers of the bed were halfway on the floor. Above the mess of furniture was the white bare wall in which was a terrifying script written in blood:

SHE IS ME

The blood had hardened on the wall and had taken a rusty brown shade. The nasty smell filled his nostrils. They all observed the letters. The music reached its peak with a thunderous Amen in a glorious crescendo until it stopped completely before starting again at the beginning of the piece with the soft strings.

He was mocking them, forcing them to play his game, knowing that they were several steps behind him.

"After all this time I still don't decipher what this means." He muttered.

"We can only guess what he's trying to tell us, but we can try to figure it out by what he know now. This is the only thing that he leaves purposely behind. We might rather be asking _why_ than _what._" Harry mused.

"Well I can think of one reason." Spencer said. "You all saw what he did to those women."

Silence filled the room as each of them mulled it over. Agent Martinez was the first one to break the silence.

"Something doesn't fit here." Her dark brown eyes scanned the room.

"He doesn't take two victims at a time. He has been careful to make sure that we have found the body before he takes the next victim."

"Do you think this isn't him? Do you think we're dealing with a copycat?"

"We can't say that at this stage, but we have to keep our minds open. He has never broken his pattern. I don't see why he would do that at this point?"

"I'm not so sure." Agent York replied over his shoulder. He was as close to the wall as he could get, his eyes searching, and critical. "It isn't uncommon that with time serial killers lose their focus. They get greedy, and their thirst for killing is so overbearing that they get reckless, and unorganized." He pulled a tweeze out of his pocket and tweaked something on wall and dragged a trace of hair from the bloodstains.

"Sometimes that recklessness leaves us evidence." He put the hair in a plastic bag marked as evidence.

"Good God. I'm sorry folks but I can't work with this in my ears. I think it doesn't destroy evidence if we turn it off." Spencer stormed over to the radio and turned it off. The air seemed to lighten considerably after the haunting music stopped.

Harris looked around and couldn't help but feel the overwhelming sense of dread for that unfortunate woman. In his job they were so used to isolate themselves from the horrors that followed their work, and impersonalize their surroundings. Sometimes he had to step back and remember that he was dealing with people. It wasn't hard to get lost in the technicalities, and lock away sympathy and remorse. Sometimes it was easier to deal with the pain and sorrow of everyday life by locking it up.

"Detective."

He looked up, and tried to shake the feeling away. Harry approached him thoughtfully.

"I would like to send two from my team to interview the family." Harry muttered.

"Of course. They're at the station. I talked to them, but I understand that you would want to get your perspective. I honestly don't think that they know anything."

"I'm not so sure. Usually people know more than they realize." Harry muttered.

"Okay."

"Martinez, Spencer." He called out to the two Agents who were hunched over the radio.

"Sir."

"I want you two to go to the station, and interview the victim's family. I also want you to question the witnesses. They might know something they haven't told the Police."

"Yes sir."

They stepped straightened up, and walked out of the room.

"You really think that they're hiding something from us?"

"It's not uncommon that people suppress unpleasant memories. Sometimes people think that some information is irrelevant but could make a difference to us. We need to know everything." Agent York said. He crossed his arms and watched Harry curiously. Harry had crouched on the floor, and was now on four legs, with one arm stretched under the massive bed.

"Actually, I think that our victim knew something. It's not unlikely that she told her family said information." Harry appeared, and stood up.

"Are you saying that she knew that someone was after her?"

Harry held up a cell phone in his hand.

"I'm saying that Lisa Cuddy was prepared."

* * *

_Princeton Borough Police Department_

Diana opened the doors to the room where Lisa Cuddy's family had been summoned. She braced herself for the upcoming event. No matter her experience with dealing with grieving families, she would never get used to, and the day she would she would quit the job.

The room was small but somehow they had managed to squeeze a round table and chairs into the small space. Lisa Cuddy's family huddled by the table, some where holding a steaming cup of coffee. Most of them barely looked up when she entered the room, except for a woman she could predict was the victims mother.

She straightened up and stared at her with a criticizing glare as if she was weighing her qualities by her appearance alone. She raised her eyebrows slightly but didn't say anything. She could tell that she hadn't passed the first test.

Diana could understand. She was little over 5'3 and even though she was strong and fit she still had the disadvantage of being on the slimmer side. She didn't give her an evil eye like she wanted to do. Instead she turned her focus on the entire family. She had been trained to read people, and if she had learned anything in her years as an agent she knew that this part of the investigation was one of the most important part. The victim was closest to these people, and they were the people who knew her best, and if she could pin down Lisa Cuddy's personality she could figure out what the murderer was looking for, and from there she could detect his personality and traits.

She closed the door behind, and try to give the family a reassuring smile.

"Hello. I'm SSA Diana Martinez from the F.B.I. I would like to ask you some questions if you don't mind."

"Why?"

The question came from a boy. He was about fourteen, and he had the typical teenage expression of boredom and aloofness, but underneath all that she could see his uneasiness, and fear.

"Daniel." The woman beside him, most likely his mother, scowled at him, but Diana raised her hand in a gesture that it was okay.

"That's a really reasonable, and good question. I'm from a department, which is called the BSU, or Behavioral Science Unit. We study criminals, and by that we try to find a behavioral profile for criminals."

"Does that really work?" He asked cynically.

"Most of the time it does, but I'm not gonna lie to you. Sometimes we fail, but most of the time we manage to figure out what the criminal is trying to do, and once we figure him or her out we can follow their pattern and sometimes catch the killer. That's why I need to speak with every single one of you questions regarding the disappearance of Lisa Cuddy."

Everyone was completely silent and she felt fourteen eyes glued on her.

"I'll go first."

A woman stood up and Diana could tell that she was Lisa Cuddy's sister. They weren't particularly alike. She was taller, curvier and plain. Her light brown hair reached her back. Dark brown eyes rested under manicured eyebrows. She was clad in plain jeans and a cashmere shirt that reached mid thigh. She looked exhausted. She had dark circles under her eyes that accentuated the pallor of her cheeks.

Diana opened the small interrogation room and wished that she wasn't questioning them in that environment. Usually they tried to question the relatives in a familiar surrounding, but the police had called them in for questioning which left them no choice but to use the interrogating room, which lacked any personality. She feared that the environment would unnerve them.

She closed the door softly behind them, and sat down. She looked at the white notepad in front of her and started the questioning.

* * *

"...Lisa wanted to exceed in everything. She was the first in her class in high school. Got into med school and graduated second best in her class. She was the first female Dean of Medicine and one of the youngest ever…" Julia stopped and tried to compose herself. "She aimed for great things, and she succeeded in most of them. I never understood her. I even scorned her for adopting a baby by herself, but she did it…she was a great mom." Julia sniffed.

"May I ask why you talk about her in the past tense?"

Julia looked up startled, her eyes widened in shock.

"I'm not..." She started to protest, but stopped when she realized the truth.

* * *

"I understand that this is hard for you Mrs. Cuddy."

"Do you?" Mrs. Cuddy looked up and stared at her with a cold stare. Mrs. Cuddy was a woman in her early seventies. Her greying hair was combed back and she looked very tidy compared to a woman who had probably not slept a wink that night. She looked at Diana scornfully.

"Do you know how it is to know that you're daughter is in danger? To wait for news whether she's dead or alive?" She kept her stare and sneered. "I don't think you understand at all, Agent Martinez."

"You're right, I don't." Diana said evenly. "But I do know these cases, and I know how criminals work, and I'm telling you that we're doing everything we can to find your daughter."

"I'll take your word for it."

* * *

"Hello Rachel. I'm Diana." She said to the little girl who sat opposite her. Her body barely reached over the table, and her feet hovered several feet off the ground. What struck her most about the little girl was how much she looked like her mother, even though she was adopted. The girl had big green grey eyes, and dark brown hair that reached her shoulders. She didn't look at Diana when she approached her. Her body language indicated distress, and fear. Even though the little girl couldn't in any way realize what was happening, she could easily tell that the girl knew that something bad was going on. Kids were very sensual when it came to changes, and most of them understood more than their elders deemed possible. Diana was sure that her aunt hadn't gone into specific details about her mother's disappearance.

"Do you want anything? I can get something for you if you want. You must be hungry."

The girl raised her eyes upwards, but pursed her lips together, and folded her arms in her lap.

"Am I frightening you?" Diana asked her kindly. "Cause you don't have to be scared of me. I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl's reaction told her differently. She stared at her with her big eyes, and Diana realized that the girl was scared out of her mind.

"I know this is scary Rachel, but I'm here to help you, and your mom."

Again no reaction, but Diana kept her calm and gave the girl a small smile.

"I bet your mom has told you not to speak with strangers, and she's right, you shouldn't talk to strangers, but I'm your friend. You can trust me Rachel."

The girl bit her lip, and nodded slightly.

"I'm just going to ask you a few questions, if that's okay with you, okay?" She asked and saw the girl nod her head.

"What do you remember since yesterday? Just tell me what you did since you woke up and until you fell asleep."

"I woke up."

"Do you know what time it was?"

She shook her head 'no'.

"That's okay. What did you do next?"

"I got dressed, my mom helped me tie the shoes, but I can almost tie them on my own." She said proudly and pointed at her shoes.

"That's great." Diana smiled encouragingly.

"Then I ate breakfast. Mommy made pancakes. Then I watched cartoons, the pirate cartoon."

"You like the pirate cartoon?"

"Mmhmm." She nodded her head eagerly.

"Okay what did you do after you watched the cartoons?"

"Me and mommy went for a walk."

"Do you do that a lot?"

"No, but mommy said that she wanted to take a walk."

"Where did you walk?"

"Our street, then we went home and I went to play."

"Did you see anything unusual while you were walking?" Diana asked her gently.

"No."

* * *

"Were you and Lisa close?"

"I have often thought about that. In many ways no, we didn't call each other every single day, and our visitations were few, but we went along all right."

"Did you see any difference in her the last month or so. Every detail is important. It might even be subtle, something you didn't notice at first."

Julia thought for a moment.

"I…I don't know…" She stuttered, and buried her head in her hands.

"Don't overthink it. Just try to relax. You might not remember anything now but you could later."

Julia sighed and shook her head.

"Lisa has always been guarded about her feelings. She didn't talk about her dates, or her boyfriends. Her personal life was her personal life. I didn't even know that she was in a serious relationship until my mom told me about it."

Diana straightened in her seat. Julia had just slipped new information without realizing it.

"Is that a recent relationship you're talking about?"

"They broke up over a year ago. They were dysfunctional. He was…interesting to say the least."

Diana watched her body language tense by the mentioning of the ex-boyfriend.

"What do you mean?"

Julia's expression changed. She thought for a moment.

"I don't know what to tell you. He and Lisa worked together for so many years. Sometimes his name would pop up in a conversation, 'House this' or 'House that', and I dismissed it. I guess I don't know my sister after all." She muttered absentmindedly.

"They worked in the same hospital."

"Yes, for years. I didn't know she had any interest in the guy until mom calls and tells me that she dumped her fiancée literally the same night he proposed and jumped into House's arms. I was just as surprised as anyone else. This was so not like Lisa." She stated firmly.

"What's his name?"

"Gregory House. They dated for nine months. Lisa dumped him, and he didn't take it well." She shivered unconsciously and took a sip of water.

"How? Did he do something?"

Julia looked down at her hands, and shook her head.

"Gregory House was a recovered drug addict." She looked up with glistened eyes. "He had been clean for a year before they dated, but when they broke up he went back on drugs. That hurt Lisa. She felt responsible for his relapse, but I kept telling her that it wasn't. I don't think she listened to me."

"Julia. Tell me what happened." Diana told her firmly but kindly.

"Things had been so difficult for Lisa, and I thought, foolishly, that she should go on a date. I set her up with a friend of ours." Julia paused. Her hands shook when she took another sip.

"Things were going great. Jerry and Lisa seemed to get along, and I allowed myself to think for a moment that things could go great, that was until the crash."

She gulped but continued.

"House drove his car into Lisa's living room. He could have killed her, us, everybody."

"Did anyone get hurt?"

"No, but Lisa wasn't the same after this. She started to lock herself up emotionally. She refused to return my calls, and she poured herself in her work."

"What happened to Dr. House?"

"He went to jail. I haven't heard anything about his current whereabouts. In my opinion he should rot in jail for what he did to Lisa." She said angrily and sniffed.

Diana wrote down on the white paper block in front of her the name 'House' and double lined the name. She looked at Julia seriously.

"Julia. Do you think that Gregory House is capable of doing something like this?"

Julia stared at her with wide brown eyes. She saw her eyes harden as she whispered.

"Yes."

* * *

"Mrs. Cuddy, was Lisa seeing anyone? Did she mention any dates, or maybe some guy at work?"

"Lisa doesn't share her personal life with me." Mrs. Cuddy said stiffly.

"All right. Did she sound distant to you? Or frightened?"

Mrs. Cuddy looked up and smiled ruefully.

"I haven't heard from my daughter in four weeks. Neither did Julia until she called her last night and asked her to babysit Rachel. Why? I don't know, but she rarely allowed that girl to stay over at anyone's house. Not after the incident." Her voice was calm, eerily calm.

"Julia mentioned Lisa's ex-boyfriend. What was your impression of him?"

"Julia disliked House the moment she met him. She has always felt that Lisa was too weak when it came to him."

"I didn't ask what Julia thought but about your own personal opinion of him." Diana reminded her.

"House was rude, egoistic, and arrogant. He was perfect for my daughter. He challenged her and so did she in return. Did I like him? No, I didn't. But I know my daughter, and I know that she was very much in love with him, even after all the horrible things he did to her."

"He doesn't sound very pleasant to me. Both you and Julia have described him in a very specific way, all negative."

"House was many things, but he was kind to my daughter."

"Driving a car through her house doesn't sound very kind to me Mrs. Cuddy."

"I know what you think, and let me tell you this, House might have been a schmuck but he wouldn't have intentionally hurt Lisa. And I do not think that he did this to my daughter."

"Julia seems to have a different opinion."

"Like I said. Julia detests the man, and I understand her, but House is not your man."

* * *

"Rachel. Did your mommy have a special friend?"

Rachel looked at her quizzically, and tilted her head to the side in thought.

"No." She shook her head, and took a bite of cookie. She had politely asked for it after she had tracked down her day.

"Did your mom say anything to you before you went to your aunt's house?"

"She said I love you, and that I was her favorite girl in the whole wide world." Rachel said happily.

Diana wanted to cry.

* * *

Agent Jeremy Spencer watched the trembling man before him. His hands shook when he lit a cigarette and inhaled sharply the toxins.

"I didn't see anyone."

"Officer Cole. I know that it has been a long day, and you're probably very tired, but at this point your memory is fresh, and we need every information we can get."

"I know what you're doing, and you can't pull that psycho analysis bullshit on me."

Officer Nathan Cole was young, probably with very little field experience. That fact alone would leave him vulnerable and insecure. Jeremy Spencer knew all this and couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy. He tried another tactic.

"Look, Nathan. We need to know what you saw. Every single detail is important so we can catch the guy."

"I told you. I didn't see anything." He emphasized and brought his trembling fingers to his mouth and inhaled deeply from the cigarette.

"Okay. I believe you, but for arguments sake let's just go back in time. Tell me the first thing you perceived when you arrived at the scene."

Nathan lowered his cigarette and brought his hand to his face.

"I can't do this. I don't want to do this." His voice shook. "Get me out of here!" He screamed. Jeremy put his hand on his wrist, and shook it slightly.

"Nathan. I know you're scared. I would be scared too. I know you think that I'm some big shot guy from the F.B.I., but I'm not. I'm just like you."

Nathan's lips trembled, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"I don't want to go back there."

"I know this place scares you. You probably just want to forget everything you saw. Swipe it all out of your brain. But we need you Nathan."

Nathan shook his head and wiped the bridge of his nose with his hand.

"Right outside this door is a grieving family, _her_ family, and they're hoping that we can save her. She has a three-year-old daughter, and she's probably scared. You can help us find her mother."

Jeremy knew that it was a lame card to pick. He rarely liked using the kid card in interrogations, but he had to crack him somehow, and usually it worked. He watched Nathan's eyes close, and his posture slacken.

"Fine." Nathan sighed.

"You drove down her street. Did you see anything? Did anyone drive past you? Did you see anyone?"

"No. There was no one."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay. When you walked up to her house, did you hear something weird? Did you feel like anything was off?"

"There was something…I'm not sure but something was weird." He frowned. "I'm not sure what it was, but it was something about the house…like I knew that something wasn't right."

"Do you know when you first felt like that? Where were you?"

"I was walking up to her house, and it was like…Do you know the feeling when you know that someone is watching you behind your back, and you get those chills?"

"Sure."

"Well…it felt like that. I felt like someone was watching me, and I knew that I didn't want to walk into that house."

"Did you at any point turn around?"

Nathan closed his eyes. His face scrunched up like he was conjuring up the images from the events from the night before.

"No." He finally muttered.

"So you knocked on her door, what happened next?"

"No one answered, then the next time I knocked the door burst open, and I just knew that something wasn't all right so I walked into the house." His hands shook more rapidly.

"I walked into her bedroom and saw the blood, and the music was so loud. I called for back up, and…." He shuddered, and moved back and forth in his seat.

"I don't know…I don't know."

"Nathan. It's all right. What happened?"

"I think I saw something…someone." He whispered.

Jeremy's eyebrows shut up, and he leaned forward.

"Where?" He pressed.

"In the window, but it disappeared just as quickly as it arrived." He said fleetingly. He looked at him with grey watery eyes, and the fear shone in the depths.

"Could you describe what you saw?"

Nathan shook his head.

"No. I'm not even sure if I saw anything. I was freaked out man."

"I'm going to call in a forensic artist to sketch up the person you saw." Jeremy said firmly. No matter what they needed that information. Nathan looked at him in panic.

"I can't do that…I'm not even sure…"

"You saw something Nathan, and we need that image. It won't take long. I promise."

An hour later he stepped out of the room. He couldn't quite hide his excitement over the news. They had a breakthrough, and he hoped that the sketch would give them something.

"Hey Jim."

Diana walked over to him with two cups of coffee. She handed him one and drank from the other one.

"Thought you might need some refreshment."

He took the cup gratefully, and leaned up against the wall.

"What did the family say?"

"Umm. I might have a name." She muttered more to herself than to him. "It might not be anything, but I have this feeling that we should at least talk to him."

"Its probably worth checking out."

Diana nodded. Jeremy knew that it was best to leave her alone to her thoughts when she was in that state of mind. He finished his coffee, and sighed.

"I think we should go to the hospital she works in, and talk to her co-workers." She suddenly piped up.

"Why?"

Diana didn't answer and threw her coffee cup in the trash. She started to walk away, and left Jeremy completely confused. She stopped and turned around.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Yeah. Sure." He mumbled, and followed her not completely sure what she was thinking, but followed her nonetheless. He had long learned that usually her epiphanies were too important to miss.


	10. After the Sun Sets

A/N: Hi guys. I'm so terribly sorry for lack of update. I've been struggling with this chapter, but I've got the next two chapters planned to pieces so they shouldn't take as long as this one.

Huge thanks to those who favorite, alert, and of course to my lovely reviewers.

Special thanks to **GratefulInsomniac** for her words of encouragement, and good advice.

I hope you like this chapter.

* * *

**-Chapter Nine-**

**After the Sun Sets**

As a child Lisa Cuddy was not afraid of the dark. Her sister, however, was terrified which gave her an even better reason to be unafraid. Julia was afraid of everything. She used to criticize her sister for her irrational fears. Something like darkness shouldn't provoke fear, because what was fear but the illusion of the mind?

Julia would sometimes run into her bedroom in the middle of the night crying out that she had seen a ghost, or a monster. Usually the looming shapes turned out to be nothing but objects that took horrifying forms in the dark. So her logical mind found no reason to be afraid of it.

That was until now. Cuddy could feel the fear snake through her senses. The swarming darkness was cold, and paralyzing. She could barely see anything, and the uncertainty of her surroundings made her even more afraid.

She had never felt so exposed in her entire life, and as time ticked slowly by she could feel the fear intensify.

She wasn't sure whether it was day or night. Neither did she know how long she had been conscious. She felt like she had been there for days, but by her estimation she gathered that it must be night. That meant that soon it would be 24 hours since she had been taken. A shiver ran through her. She knew that the odds were not in her favor.

_Don't think like that Lisa._

She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and tried to warm up her bare arms. Her white tank top and cotton pajama pants weren't enough coverage from the cold that seeped through the walls. She didn't understand the cold. It was the middle of the summer, how on earth could it be so cold?

Her head rested on her knees, and she tried to think of anything but the cold, and the dark. Her thoughts went to her daughter, her little angel who was so sweet, and so incredibly innocent. She must be horrified. At least she was safe; that was the only thing that mattered, as long as she was in safe hands.

House was probably out of prison by now. It was odd thinking about him. She had tried so hard to erase everything related to him. Somehow it didn't feel as painful as it did before.

Did he know that she was gone? Did he care?

She couldn't think like that. He probably knew by now. Was he looking for her?

So many unanswered questions ran through her mind, and each one made her realize how hopeless this was. Yet, somehow by thinking of him she was filled with hope. Even though she knew that it didn't make any sense at all.

It was blind faith that someone was out there looking for her, and if there was anyone that would do anything to help her it was House. She was positive of it.

No matter what had passed between them in the past, all the horrible things they had done and said to each other, somehow it seemed so small, and so silly compared to the situation she was in now.

She was still angry with him, and the hatred she once felt for him had disappeared, and was replaced by fear. The letters from House were no coincidence. He was in danger, and he probably didn't even know.

A sudden desperation bubbled within her, as if something inside her broke, and her suppressed fears, and anxieties burst out. She wanted to scream, and every fiber of her being screamed at her to run as fast as she could. She was losing control. She had to get out of there.

But how could she escape from this? She thought of every missing person's case she had seen on the news, and somehow she couldn't remember anyone that had survived such an ordeal.

_Stop it Lisa. _

Again her thoughts were going to places she didn't want to visit. She was tired, that was the problem. Her body was exhausted from the day, and even though the adrenaline flowed through her veins she could feel her body tire easily.

She needed to rest. Every time when she tried to close her eyes, and rest, she found herself jolt up from her position. She felt like someone was watching her, waiting until she would lose her guard.

Cuddy inhaled sharply. Tears stung behind her eyelids as she tried to battle the fight. She had to stay strong. She couldn't appear vulnerable, and if she started to break down then there would be no turning back.

She let one hand slip off her knees and down on the floor. She ran a hand along the smooth surface, and almost jumped up when she felt something roll past her fingertips. She straightened up and ran her hand blindly through the same spot, and stopped when her hand found the object.

It was a hairpin.

The pin was small, and fit perfectly in her hand. She could easily hide it.

She felt a sense of dread, and excitement at the same time. Her heart thumped in her chest. She might be able to open the lock.

But what if this was put there on purpose? She dismissed that concern as soon as it came. Her abductor wouldn't want her to leave, so there was no way that he had left it there. It must have belonged to someone else. That meant that she wasn't the first.

A shiver ran down her spine. There had been someone else there, and she wasn't there now. Where was she? Had she escaped? Was she dead?

She shook her head. She reminded herself to avoid such horrible thoughts. She had to focus on herself, or else she would lose her mind.

She had to conjure up a plan before she attempted to escape. There was no use in trying something when she didn't even know where she was. Somehow she needed to get a better picture of her surroundings.

She tried to ease her mind, and use the yoga methods she did every single morning. She needed to calm her mind, but it was an impossible task. Instead she drew her legs to her chest, and clutched her knees tightly.

She desperately needed a plan.

Her hand toyed with the pin, and she put it against the lock on the chains. It slid smoothly into the slot.

Suddenly she heard a sound. It was quiet at first, and she wasn't sure whether it was her fears playing a trick on her mind. Her head snapped up and she removed the pin.

The sound became louder, and she knew that this wasn't just a figment of her imagination.

The noise grew louder, and she could distinctly hear the heavy footsteps and clacking of metal. She held her breath, and her eyes widened when she realized what was happening.

Someone was opening the door.

* * *

House sat on the floor in his dark bedroom. The only light came from the fat moon in the cloudless sky, its light shining through the curtains. His eyes were focused on the dresser before him, but he wasn't really looking.

His mind was racing. Sometimes he could step back and allow his thoughts to visit another place. A place where he could sort them out, and think critically. Sometimes when he was dealing with extremely hard cases he went into that mind palace of his, and tried to piece the pieces together to find the answer.

But this time he simply couldn't make sense of anything that was going on. He didn't have enough facts to get a clear picture of the situation.

All he knew was that Cuddy was somewhere in danger, and she had tried to call him. The most obvious unsolved question was:why did she call him?

He just couldn't find a decent answer to that question. All she knew was that he was still in prison. But that alone did not answer why she had called him of all people?

They hadn't spoken, or had any other contact with each other since the incident. Why had she called him?

There was something missing. A piece of the puzzle he was missing, and he had no idea how he could figure this one out.

He really needed a drink, and he desperately longed for Vicodin. His hand reached into his pants pocket and fished out a crumbled piece of paper. Wilson's cursive was written on the bottom line of the paper. He had been very generous with the Vicodin amount.

When had he started to become so predictable?

He had prided himself of being different, smarter, and more unpredictable than everyone. Was he any different?

He leaned his head against the soft mattress that supported his back. He could feel the urge boil in his veins, like his whole body was crying out for the chemicals.

He didn't know what made him hesitate. He had been on the drugs for so many years, and his conscience had rarely stopped him from doing what he wanted. Except when it came to Cuddy. She was the only exception he made. Initially she was the reason why he stopped doing the drugs, and how he endured the sober life for two years. That was until everything changed, and even she wasn't enough.

When he had broken that boundary everything had shifted. Just because of one pill.

She wasn't there to stop him. There was no reason for him to skip the pills just because of her.

"Shit!" He exclaimed and banged his head against the mattress. What was he doing?

He couldn't pretend that he could do something. Cuddy wasn't in his life anymore, and rightfully he shouldn't get involved with this.

_So you're just going to let her die? Great, now you've proved that you're not only a complete asshole, but also a coward. _

House scowled at his own thought. He definitely needed a drink, badly.

He scrambled on his feet, and put his hand on the dresser to gain his balance.

He limped into the living room, and found the cabinet where he stored his alcohol. He opened the door only to find it empty. He frowned, and looked at his clock. It was twelve a.m. Duke's was still open, the local bar he frequently sought, and he could just get couple of drinks, or ten.

Duke's was a sleazy dump that was perfectly decent as a local getaway to drown your sorrows, or pick up chicks that were too drunk to care. It was only a few blocks away from Baker Street so if he was too drunk to drive he could easily walk, or in his case, hobble to his house.

The bar was quiet when he entered. Few regulars sat by a table in the farthest corner; their beer glasses mostly empty. Aside from the bleary eyed regulars there was a man sitting solo by one of the tables. A cigar was propped in his mouth, the smoke swirling around his obese frame.

He walked past the empty tables towards the counter, and sat on one of the stools. The bartender walked up to him. She was petite and her black tank top and skinny, ripped jeans did nothing to hide her lovely curves. Her short hair reached just below her ear, one of the locks were dyed a bright pink color.

"What can I get you?" Her voice was brisk.

"Vodka. Keep 'em coming."

She poured the drink into a shot glass. He picked up the glass, and inhaled sharply before he emptied the whole thing into his mouth. He grimaced, and picked up another one.

"Hard day?"

He didn't answer, and gulped down another shot. He turned to the bartender and asked for another round. She grabbed the vodka bottle off the shelf and poured in the glasses. He picked one up, and raised it in the air in a toast and took a swig. She watched him lazily, and blinked slowly so her black and pink eye shadow was clearly visible, an odd combination with the purple lipstick on her lips. She leaned against the counter, and tapped her chewed black nails absentmindedly on the table.

"So what brings a guy like you to a bar like this on a Monday night?"

"What's it to you?" He snarled, and took another gulp.

"I was just curious. No need to be angry." She backed off, and picked up a rag, and started to clean the table.

"Why are you so curious?" He asked her inquiringly. She looked up, and dropped the rag on the table.

"Well. You don't really look like the regulars here." She started. "And you seem even more miserable than them. Don't you have a wife to go home to, or something?"

"Are you usually so persistent towards customers?"

"Usually they forget it when they go home, if they have a home to go to."

House nodded his head disinterested. He didn't go to the bar for a conversation. He would rather wallow in his own misery rather than act social.

She seemed to sense that, and left him alone to his thoughts. Oddly enough his thoughts weren't much comfort, and the alcohol was not working its magic.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was about 12:30 a.m. Cuddy had almost been gone for 24 hours.  
Why did he care so much? Did he truly still love her after everything? She was, after all, the reason why he was so miserable in the first place.

House sighed, and rubbed his palms over his eyes. He was exhausted.

He opened his eyes, and almost jumped up when the bartender stood right before him.

"Dude, I know you probably don't want to talk to anyone, but you really look miserable. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." He muttered, and glared at her. "Why do you care?"

"I don't, but you really look like you need someone to talk to, even though you don't."

"Believe me, you don't want to know."

"Actually I do." She tilted her head, and waited patiently for him to continue.

"What makes you think I want to talk to you about it?"

"I don't think that you want to talk to me about it." She said casually.

"That doesn't make any sense. You inquire to know what's wrong, but you say that you don't care, and that you think that I don't want to talk to you about it. So tell me again why I should talk to you."

"Look. You don't want to talk to me, but you need to talk to someone, and I guess that the person you usually talk to isn't around. That's why you're here. I don't care, but I'm curious, that's why I want to know. So there you have it. I don't care, and you need to talk to someone."

House couldn't quite hide his smirk. She wasn't as stupid as she looked.

"Fine. I'll tell you."

She placed her elbows on the table, and waited for him to speak.

"I was in prison." He said simply, and waited for her to react. Disappointedly she didn't back off and do her job. Instead she raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued, but not surprised.

"You're not a little scared?" He asked disappointedly.

"Nope."

House glared at her. She stood straight but didn't leave.

"You haven't answered why you're here."

"I'm escaping." He said simply.

"Everyone's escaping something." She countered. "What are you escaping?"

He felt that the alcohol was starting to affect him, and he felt himself loosen up.

"I did something horrible."

She didn't say anything but listened intently.

"I hurt the person I love, actually the only person I've ever loved."

"What did you do?"

He sighed, and buried his head in his hands.

"It doesn't matter."

He looked up into her eyes that were so unbelievably curious.

"I'm a poison. I destroy everything beautiful, and good around me. It's a curse."

He was starting to get sluggish.

"I'm sure you didn't mean to hurt her." She said comfortingly. "Or him, " she added quickly.

"_She" _he said with emphasis, "is dead. Or she will be, and it's because of me."

She didn't seem scared by his confession, merely curious.

"Did you hurt her in any way?"

"No! I mean yes, but it's not because of this."

"Why is she dying? Is she sick?"

He didn't answer, and refused to meet her eye contact. He didn't know why he was sharing these things with her, but it made him uncomfortable.

"Are you directly responsible for her…situation?"

"I wasn't there for her when she needed me the most. We broke up, and she left, and now she's…." He stopped and shook his head miserably.

"So there's really nothing you could've done."

"I guess not."

"Do you love her?" The question was simple enough, and yet it was incredibly complicated. Did he love her?

"I don't know." He said honestly.

"I don't think you would care so much if you weren't."

"I don't know how to help her." He said more to himself than to her.

"It's simple." She said and smiled. "Be there for her."

He huffed. It was easier said than done. The last time he tried to be there for her, well, it ended with him driving a car into her house.

"Look…." He looked at her and realized that he didn't catch her name.

"Amy." She said.

"Amy. I really don't care. It's probably a nice thought and everything, but I really think that she and I are over."

She rolled her eyes.

"Well, it was worth the shot." She sighed, and began to clean up again. Her hair fell in her face as she rubbed a spot a bit forcefully.

House watched her for a moment before he took up his wallet and threw several bills on the counter.

"Well, thanks for the chat. Amy."

She raised her eyebrows, and counted the bills.

"Damn."

"What?"

"Here I was hoping for a good tip. My band is planning on going to Florida in August, so…"

House snorted. He could give her that she wasn't stupid at all.

"Figures." He picked up his wallet and handed her a fifty-dollar bill.

"That's more like it."

He started to walk away, but stopped.

"So you were just messing with me the whole time?" He said in disbelief.

"You're good." He added more than a little impressed.

"Actually, I wasn't messing with you." She adjusted a strand of hair.

"Really? What do you take me for?"

"I'm being totally honest. You looked horrible, and I do care about people."

"Well that's disappointing. I was starting to think that you were cool."

She smirked, then smiled knowingly.

"Go find your woman, and make things right. I know you want to."

"Why?"

"Because you wouldn't be so miserable if you didn't."

She eyed him knowingly, and shut off the lights on the bar.

"The bar closes at one people. Go home." She said, and started to adjust the chairs by one of the tables.

House frowned, and walked out of the bar. Was Amy right?

He sighed, why was he listening to a twenty year old?

He was way too drunk to drive home so he decided to walk the short distance. His legs were a little wobbly, but he wasn't drunk enough to lose his footing.

After fifteen minutes he had reached the building of his apartment. He walked over the street, and cursed the black SUV that sped past him, driving into a rain puddle, the water splattering in the air and on his pants. He cursed the driver, and limped up the steps.

The hallway was dark, the only light coming from a single lamp on the wall. He fished for his keys, but froze when he saw a square box in front of his door.

He frowned, and crouched down to pick up the box. It had no return address so he couldn't see whom it was from.

The door opened into his apartment, and he placed the box on the sofa table. He picked up a knife and cut through the tape. He opened the lid, and almost recoiled back when he saw the contents of the box.

_What the hell?_

He took a timid step closer to the box, and picked up a letter addressed to him. The blood froze in his veins as he read the letter. He reached into the box and picked up a Polaroid picture. It slid through his fingers and fell into the box with a low thud as it hit the orange pill bottles that covered the entirety of the box.


	11. Beyond the Moon

A/N: Hi all. I promised to update soon, and I did as I promised. I hope you like it.

Just to clear things a bit. Cuddy has now been gone for 24 hours and this chapter happens right before the events of last chapter, so this chapter happens around midnight, and continues beyond the events of _After the Sun Sets_. By the end of this chapter every character is on the same timeline. Hope I haven't confused you even more.

Thank you for reading, and huge thanks to those who left a review since last time. I am so grateful for your comments; they really do keep me going.

* * *

**-Chapter Ten-**

**Beyond the Moon**

She watched the white tablet hit the clear surface of the water. The tablet dissolved in the liquid making it erupt into tiny bubbles. She waited until it had completely dissolved into the water before picking it off the table.

She turned to the distraught woman before her and handed her the glass, which she accepted with trembling fingers.

Elizabeth watched her mother as she drank the water. Caroline Archibald used to be a beautiful woman, and she still was, but her illness had aged her appearances considerably. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks were sunken from weight loss.

Elizabeth had always admired her effortless beauty. She used to sit by her vanity and watch her comb her strawberry blonde hair, wishing that she had inherited the same hair. Caroline had always been good with her hands. She was the one that had taught her to play the piano, which seemed to be the only quality she inherited from her mother. Her sister was the one with the green fingers, and passion for art, and craft like their mother.

Now when she watched her mother she appeared to be the ghost of her former self. Her beautiful hair had been the victim of the chemo, leaving her completely bald. Her mother hated it. She frequently tried to hide it with scarves or wigs.

That evening she had covered her head with an ornate scarf in a brilliant turquoise.

She could see the apparent stages of shock on her features. Her pale face seemed translucent in the dim light of the living room. Her usually straight posture was now hunched over.

"Caroline, you should get some sleep." Her uncle John said from his seat. He was her mother's older brother, and he had arrived the minute he heard the news. He had always been her favorite uncle, and she valued his presence greatly.

They were currently seated on a plush sofa in the living room of her parents home. Her mother shook her head tiredly.

"No. I want to wait for Victor." She said quietly.

"Mom. Victor won't arrive until tomorrow morning. You should get some rest." She said calmly, yet firmly.

"I don't understand why your brother can't get a flight sooner." Her mother fussed. It was her way to cope.

"He'll be here in the morning." John said calmly. "If you rest you'll feel much better."

Her mother seemed hesitant until another voice interrupted the silence.

"Caroline. I am so terribly sorry."

They looked up just in time to see Isaac Archibald strut into the room. Elizabeth felt like it was the most unwanted family reunion. She wanted most of all to usher them all out and have a moment's piece. Her thoughts kept turning to her father's last message, and Isaac Archibald's presence was not something she was ready for at the moment.

"Caroline. Eliza. Jonathan." He acknowledged each one of them. She wanted to cringe. Her father used to fondly nickname her by that name when she was a little girl, and somehow it had stuck. Now she would never hear him call her by that name, and hearing it from her uncle's lips made her skin crawl.

"Isaac." Her mother said thinly. "I'm terribly sorry but you did not catch me at my best."

"Don't trouble yourself Caroline. My brother's passing was...unfortunate." He finally settled. Isaac was not known for his pleasantries, and his cold demeanor was unsettling. Elizabeth had always felt slightly uncomfortable in his presence. He sat down opposite them and watched them with his impassive grey eyes. She felt her mother tense beside her.

"If you don't mind I think I'll lie down. I'm not feeling well."

Elizabeth watched her mother stand up and leave the living room with slow steps.

"Of course." Isaac said.

When her mother had left the room she watched Isaac stand up from the leather armchair and start to walk back and forth. He was easily agitated, and walking was his way of releasing tension. Elizabeth didn't say anything, and watched her uncle roam around the living room.

"Where can I get a drink around here?"

"Isaac. I don't think that now's the best time for this." John muttered uncomfortably.

"Why not? I don't see the harm with one drink." He said coldly and opened the cabinets.

"Here we are. Would you like some?"

Elizabeth stared at him pointedly and shook her head. He raised a glass to John who declined politely. He poured himself some scotch and walked over to the ornate fireplace and leaned against the white marble. He observed her with his stormy grey eyes.

"We need to make funeral arrangements." Isaac muttered impassively. Elizabeth felt the great need to punch him in the face. Her uncle had never been one for sentiments, and other people's emotions made him deeply uncomfortable. Something as common as death didn't alarm him the slightest, and things like funeral arrangements, though a necessity, was a bit of a nuisance.

"I think it's best that we should take our leave for the night. We can speak of such things in the morning." John's voice was firm, yet respectful.

"I see no point in delaying it."

"They have been through enough today." John said firmly, his voice losing its former politeness.

"It's not your decision to make." Isaac said coldly.

"But it is mine." Elizabeth said angrily.

"Eliza." He started but she cut him off.

"I think it's best you leave and come back tomorrow. We're all in shock, and I think that a decent nights sleep would be the best for all of us."

Isaac opened his mouth to argue back, but closed it, and nodded his head.

"If you insist." He said, and placed the empty glass on the table. He bid goodnight and left the room much to Elizabeth's relief. John placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm so terribly sorry Eliza."

Elizabeth looked down, and toyed with the hem of her skirt.

"Me too." She said when she found her voice.

"I can stay if you want me to."

"It's okay."

"If you're sure." He stood removed his hand from her shoulder. "Call me if you need anything."

"Thank you." She murmured.

He nodded his head gravely, and left the room.

She sighed when he was gone.

Funeral arrangements. The thought hadn't even occurred to her, considering recent events. It seemed so awfully final.

She heaved a sigh, and buried her head in her hands. Everything was so messed up.

She tilted her head sideways, and subtly she reached for her briefcase. She was alone now, and she could finally see what her father had left her.

With careful fingers she drew out the thick envelope. She took a deep breath.

This might hold the answers she was looking for, but she feared that it would only bring her more pain. She knew that she should sleep on this, but her curiosity won over.

Elizabeth clenched her jaw. She needed to know the truth.

She tore the seal open, and drew out a thick file. A folded piece of paper dropped into her lap. She picked it up with trembling fingers, unfolded it, and began to read.

* * *

_My dearest Elizabeth_

_If you're reading this then something horrible has happened. _

_I cannot give you any words of comfort or condolence, but I want you to know how terribly sorry I am. _

_I am sorry for many things, but most of all I'm sorry for not being there for you when you needed me the most. _

_This letter is not what they call a suicidal letter. _

_This is my warning to you. I know that you have been digging deep into your sister's disappearance, and I'm asking you, I'm begging you, to stop._

_Don't go down that road. It only leads to dangerous places, and I can't lose another daughter. _

_The document I leave you has information about your sister. Information I withheld for your safety. _

_Soon after your sister disappeared I received a package from her abductor. I saw this as an opportunity to get her back, but it turned out that he wasn't too keen on my money. That was until recently when he gave me his bank account and the amount he wanted for your sister. I complied, but hope that I can track the owner of the account. _

_If you have received this then my plan has failed. _

_It grieves my heart that if this won't work then your sister is dead. I tried everything I could, but sometimes that isn't enough. _

_Please do as I ask of you. Take care of your mother, and brother. _

_Remember how much I love you. _

_Your father_

**_Maximilian Archibald_**

* * *

Elizabeth stared at the letter, and dropped it on the table. She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape.

She had not been prepared for this. She should have known better than to read it immediately.

What struck her the most was the evident submission in the tone of the letter. Her father never gave up, but here he seemed to just give up on everything.

It meant that he was human. In that letter she traced a vulnerable side to him she had never seen. It was so unlike him. So unlike the man she loved and adored.

Even though her grief for her father was overwhelming she couldn't help but think of the information he had given her. She ignored her inner struggles about her father hiding this information from them.

The most puzzling thing was that her sister's abductor had contacted her father, which meant that the police had it all wrong.

She glanced down at the closed file in her lap, and carefully opened it.

The first page held the information about the transferring of money from her father's account to an anonymous one. She stared at the numbers.

Could this be the key? It seemed so simple. It was too simple.

Elizabeth flipped the page, and received the confirmation of her thoughts. Her father had tried to track down the owner of the account, John Doe.

She flipped through the pages, and saw how deep and long her father's indirect interaction with her sister's abductor was. He had sent her father various notes, and threats, and she could understand how this could have made her father slowly lose his mind. She could see the pattern unfold like a spider spinning a web.

He was playing a game.

She reached the last page and almost dropped the file. It was a picture. It was dark, and had a green tint like it had been taken with a night vision camera. Her sister was sitting in a corner, her wrists, and ankles chained. Her eyes looked directly into the camera, her eyes wide, and fearful. Her mouth was slightly open in a silent scream. She traced her face with her finger, a small tear slid down her cheek.

She closed the file, and put it on the table. Her breathing was quickening, and she realized that she was about to hyperventilate. Every fear she had suppressed seemed to bubble up to the surface.

She tried to calm herself, and use her self-help technique.

_Your name is Elizabeth Jane Archibald, and everything is going to be all right. _

This was too much.

She stood up and opened the window, allowing the summer air to clear her mind.

Why was this happening today? What had triggered this all?

The answer came to her almost immediately. It was all connected to one source. Her father's suicide, the phone call from Harry Dwight. It was all connected to the other victim.

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. She needed to know more about that woman.

She strode to the armchair she had been sitting on minutes ago and picked up her laptop from her briefcase. She opened the search engine for the latest news.

It didn't take her a long time to track the name of the victim. Dr. Lisa Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine in Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. She conjured up a picture of her house, and within a minute she had found the address.

She stared at the picture of her house. He had been there. He had watched her, and taken her. This was the connection. This was her answer.

In a moment of complete impulse she picked up her phone.

"Bob. I need the car."

* * *

The car drove down the well-manicured street. Elizabeth hadn't been to Jersey since her sister had been taken. Her sister had lived in a cozy little flat in Trenton. Unlike her siblings, who had both preceded their careers in the field of law, she had chosen to become an elementary school teacher.

Elizabeth had never understood that decision of hers, but then again, she rarely understood her at all. Therefore her decision to move to New Jersey was both unexpected, and ridiculous to Elizabeth.

The car halted, and her driver glanced back.

"We have reached our destination miss."

She leaned forward peeked out of the window. The house was small but seemingly comfortable. It was painted in a warm eggshell color that fit nicely with the darker roof. A small, well manicured, lane went up to the front door.

What struck her was that this was exactly the kind of house Lily would have liked.

It was hard to ignore the yellow tape that indicated that this was a crime scene. The front door had also been taped to prevent trespassing.

This only proved that what she was about to do was borderline insane. She grabbed her purse, and opened the door of the car.

It was pouring outside, so she drew her coat tighter against her body.

"Don't wait here. I'll call you." She told the driver, and stepped out of the car. She waited until the car turned around the corner; then she crouched under the tape, and hurried over the lawn towards the front door.

This was insane. She was about to break into a house, the house of someone who had been recently kidnapped. It didn't need an expert to figure out that this was beyond suspicious. She would be in lots of trouble if she would get caught, but thankfully she was used to claw her way out of things.

There was really no sign of breaking and entering, or that any crime had been committed there expect for the yellow tape in front of the door marked _Crime Scene Do Not Cross_**_. _**

She removed the tape, and grasped the door handle. She stepped over the threshold. The floor creaked, a shiver traveled down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

She was crazy for doing this. She had gone insane, like her father.

She took timid steps forwards, the heel of her boots clacked loudly against the wooden floor. She turned her flashlight on.

The first thing she noticed was the absence of pictures on the creamy colored walls. The still intact nails indicated that there had been pictures there before. She turned the lights downwards but there was no sign of broken glass, it had been cleaned up.

She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She moved as quietly as she could into the house.

It was well furnished with impeccable taste, and great knack for detail. It would have been very nice if the chilling absence of the owner weren't so tangible in the air.

She was careful not touch anything, and keenly observed her surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The armchair by the window did catch her attention. A blanket was draped over the armrest like someone had quickly discarded it. An open book lay on the coffee table by the chair, _The Collector_, it was open in the middle.

It was unsettling to think that when Lisa Cuddy decided to go to bed that night she didn't fathom what was about to happen.

She looked out the window that viewed over the dark street, and wondered whether he had been watching her from across the street, waiting until she would fall asleep. She could almost see him there, lurking outside her home, waiting for his prey.

Elizabeth moved out of the living room, and down the bedroom hallway. She walked past a half open door, and took a peak. Her eyes widened, and she pushed the door wide open.

This room did definitely not belong to Lisa Cuddy. It was a beautifully decorated room in pink, and purple. In the middle of the room was a table and chairs with dolls, and teddies. On the table was a miniature tea set and cakes made of plastic.

She had no idea that she had a daughter. That poor little girl, she must be horrified.

She backed out of the room, and closed it quickly behind her. It was no time to feel guilty.

She walked down the hallway, and opened the door by the end of the hall.

The room was bare, raw, stripped from all personality. The place had been cleaned, but the broken furniture was a clear sign of the crime that had taken place. There were no pictures on the walls, and some furniture had been taken, probably for further examination.

Her eyes roamed over to the wall where the letters stood on the wall. Red, and bright they showed the chilling words.

_**She Is Me**_

She closed her eyes. It only brought her back to horrible memories. A lump formed in her throat when she remembered the scene of her sister's abduction. She could remember the horror when she walked into her bedroom and saw the blood red letters on the wall. Those words had haunted her ever since she saw them. What did it mean? Moreover what did those words mean to the person who took her?

She opened her eyes, and shifted her head away from the wall. She walked further into the room, and stopped by a dresser. She opened it slowly, and turned the flashlight into the closet. She flipped through the rack, and noticed that she had expensive taste, which was not like her sister.

There must be something missing, there had to be. He took his time to leave a note, and a sign that he was there, so it was very plausible that he had taken something with him, something personal.

She leaned down, and checked the bottom of the dresser to see whether she had anything that could give her any clue.

She was opening a storage box when she heard a small creak. She whipped her head back, and shone her flashlight towards the door, but there was no one in sight. She sat stock still for a minute until she was sure that it was nothing. She turned around, and continued to rummage through the box.

Suddenly she heard another creak, and this time she was sure that she was not alone in the house. Calmly she opened her purse, and picked up a pepper spray can, and held it tightly in her hand. She continued to look through the box, but kept her senses alert. When she heard another creak, she turned around, and stood up from her position.

She barely took a glance at the tall figure. She punched her fist in the air, and hit something, she wasn't sure whether it was an arm or a chin, and then she raised the spray can and sprayed in her opponents face.

"Ah!" The figure stumbled, and fell on the floor with a loud thud.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" She shouted.

She noticed that it was definitely a man, his hands were covered over his eyes, and he grunted in pain.

"I can say the same to you." He muttered. When he sat up she noticed that he grabbed something in his hand.

"Drop your weapon." She ordered.

"First of all, I'm a cripple! Second, I won't drop it unless you'll drop yours."

Elizabeth squinted her eyes, and looked at him skeptically.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Why should _I_ trust you?" He threw her question back at her. It was a good point, but that didn't mean that she was going to lose her guard.

"Why _should _I trust you? You could be the kidnapper, a murderer for all I know. How should I know whether you're a cripple or not? You could be faking it."

"I'm not faking."

"Prove it."

He raised his eyebrows; clearly a little endeared, but also evidentially pissed off.

"I don't need to prove anything. Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing?"

"I'm calling the police." She said, and picked up her phone.

"Are you really sure that it's a good idea? You don't look like an officer to me."

It was a good point, but she really didn't care about the risks right now. She had no idea who this man was; he could be her sister's abductor. He could be a criminal, and she would rather stay in jail for one night rather than get murdered.

"Shut up." She barked. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I at least stand up?"

She pursed her lips, but accepted timidly. She kept her spray ready, and watched him stand up with difficulty. He leaned heavily on his cane, and rubbed his leg.

"Damn." He muttered under his breath.

"Answer my question. What are you doing here?"

He looked at her, and shook his head.

"I saw you walk into the house, and followed you."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You think I work for him?"

"Why are you so sure that it's a man? It could be woman." He eyed her suspiciously.

"Not a chance. I've studied this case. It's not a woman."

"What are you? A private detective?"

"Of course not." She said disdainfully.

"Then what are you doing here?" He inquired.

She opened her mouth, but closed it again. He glared at her inquiringly.

"Well?"

"I was looking for evidence." She admitted.

"Why?"

"Because the same person who took Lisa Cuddy took my sister."

"You think he's here?"

"Actually I came to look for evidence. I didn't expect anyone to be here."

He didn't say anything, and for the first time she took a good look at him. He was strangely handsome in a disheveled way. His hair was uncut, and dominantly grey though she could still detect chestnut in between. He was unshaved, and unkempt both in clothing and appearance. But the most striking feature were his eyes, which were the most amazing shade of blue she had ever seen. There was something awfully sad about that man, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him even though she didn't know him one bit.

"So you're here because of your sister?"

"Yes, and you still haven't answered why you're here?"

He looked away, and again she felt sorry for the man. He seemed to hold such a burden on his shoulders.

"I knew her."

"You knew Lisa Cuddy? Are you her husband?"

"No." He said firmly, a little too firmly.

"You _were _her husband." It was more of a statement not a question.

"No. Now will you let it go?"

"I'm sorry."

"What the hell do you think you're going to find here?" He said angrily.

"I don't trust the police to find my sister, and this is the last place my sister's captor was, so I decided to take a look."

"You really don't have any boundaries do you?"

She didn't answer him. She was puzzled over this man. She couldn't quite detect what to think of him.

He rubbed his leg, seemingly in much pain, which did prove that he wasn't the offender.

She felt a little guilty.

"You're a real bitch, do you know that. You attacked me."

Maybe she didn't feel so guilty after all.

"For a really good reason. I thought you were going to kill me."

He huffed, and continued to rub his leg.

"How do you know her?"

He didn't answer.

"Hey, you wouldn't be here if you didn't care greatly for her, so what is it?"

"We used to work together, okay?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"You seem a little too personal for a person who used to work for her."

"Fine we used to date, are you happy?" He snapped.

"So you knew her very well." She said more to herself than to him. That meant that he would know if anything had been taken.

"You could say that."

She stood up, and walked back and forth, deep in thought.

"Is anything missing?" She asked him suddenly.

"What?"

"Do you think anything's amiss?"

He frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just answer me will you?"

He sighed, and looked around, his eyes observing the room. She watched him carefully, and noticed the way his expression changed from sheer annoyance to one of observation.

He pointed his cane towards the dresser.

"There. That box has been handled."

She looked at the storage box under the bottom shelf in her dresser.

"How do you notice that?" From her viewpoint there wasn't anything odd, or out of place about it.

"She labeled her boxes, the label isn't on the front so it has been turned around."

She raised her eyebrows. It was very impressive.

"Check on it?"

"Why should _I _do it?"

"Because I'm not turning my back to you. I still don't trust you."

"I'm a cripple in case you haven't noticed."

She put her no nonsense expression, the one she used on her clients, but he seemed unfazed by it.

"Just do it." She ordered.

He narrowed his eyes, and reluctantly he limped towards the closet and picked up the box, and dropped it on a dresser. He tore the lid off the box, and froze.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." He said quickly, and put the lid back on the box.

She walked over to him, and tore it off.

"I don't believe…." She froze, and stared at the contents. The box was full of pictures of Lisa Cuddy, and the stranger that stood frozen by her side.

She looked at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I'll return it." She picked it up, and started to move when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Wait." His voice was raw.

"Let me take a look."

She handed him the box, and watched him go through the pictures. She felt a bit like she was invading his personal space, but didn't want to leave him alone in case he would keep something away from her, so she watched him silently.

"There's one picture missing." He said after a while.

"You think someone has taken it?"

"Wasn't it your theory?" His tone was harsh.

"Yes, and I was right. Which means that he is aiming on the families. The women aren't the only victims."

The color drained from his face by her words.

"What did you say?"

"He's aiming towards the families. The police have it all wrong. The women aren't the only victims." She explained.

"Why do you think that?"

She pursed her lips. She didn't trust him enough to share the information her father had given her. She was careful to keep a poker face, and glared at him stating that the conversation was over.

"I think I should go." She finally muttered.

"I think you should."

She nodded her head, and sent her driver a text to come back.

She buttoned her coat, and picked up her purse. She hesitated slightly and watched him carefully.

"Well. I'm sorry I broke into your girlfriends home." Even though she didn't feel sorry at all.

He grabbed his cane, and started to walk towards the door.

"Ex-girlfriend." He corrected her.

She followed him, and together they walked out of the house.

"Well. This was interesting." He said sarcastically. He started to walk away when she suddenly called after him.

"What's your name?"

He stopped and looked back at her.

"Gregory House."

"Elizabeth Archibald."

She watched him limp away into the darkness. If she was sure of one thing it was that this was probably not the last she would see of Gregory House.


	12. As the Sun Rises

A/N: Thanks to those who read and reviewed since last time. Your comments encourage me to continue with this, and I'm so thankful for everything you have to say. You seriously don't know how much your comments inspire me, so thank you all so much.

I know I promised some Cuddy in this chapter, but I have major plans for her in the next two chapters, especially in chapter thirteen, so I hope you don't mind.

A small warning, there are many indications of police work, and graphic details in this chapter. I'm not a specialist in serial killers, and how they work. I apologize in advance if there are any errors.

Thank you for reading.

* * *

_**-Chapter Eleven-**_

_**As the Sun Rises**_

Four agents sat at Betty's Breakfast Diner in the heart of Princeton. They sat tiredly over coffee and the trademark dish of the place, which consisted of the classic pancakes, egg and bacon.

"What have we got so far?"

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"We went to Dr. Cuddy's work place. So far we didn't get much." Diana said tiredly, and squirted ketchup over her eggs.

"They were all in shock. Maybe they'll remember something later." Jeremy said with his mouth full. He seemed to be the only one that didn't look extremely sleep deprived.

"Though we did get information about that Dr. House."

"Yeah, it seems like the guy's a legend. What's interesting is that everyone disliked him except very few. I sent a background check on him, and found this."

Jeremy picked up a printout of his criminal record.

"Says here that he has an extensive record of drug abuse, and what we already knew that he drove his car into Cuddy's house. What's interesting is that he got out on Monday. Somehow I don't think that's a coincidence." He handed Harry the print out.

"So you're saying that he's the one behind this?" Flynn asked skeptically.

"Why not? You should have seen the way people talked about him. He's supposedly a genius, with serious mental issues. It fits."

"No it doesn't." Flynn contradicted. "There is nothing that indicates that we have a copycat, except for the fact that we still haven't found Lilian Archibald's body. I think that he's actually playing a game, the same game he has been playing all along."

"But…"

"What did you find in the house?" Diana interrupted Jeremy abruptly.

"We went through the entire house and everything looks just like the other crime scenes, except for letters we found in a box in her home."

"What's so interesting about them?" Jeremy asked curiously.

"They're from the man you mentioned, that Dr. House."

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows, an obnoxious smirk spread on his face.

"It doesn't mean that he's behind it." Flynn opposed.

"So, you're going to talk to him?" Diana asked.

"I want to, but Detective Harris doesn't think we should pursue it at the moment. He thinks we have better things to do." Flynn said aggravatingly.

"So. We can pursue this." Flynn shook his head.

"It's not wise. You know that the first thing to do is to co-operate with the police, not work against them. If we go behind their backs they'll feel like we're working against them."

"Oh please. Our main goal is to find that woman, and if we're on to this Dr. House then I think we should talk to him." Jeremy took a big bite and raised his eyebrows to proof his point.

"I think that Flynn's right." Harry muttered.

"What?" Jeremy turned his head to Harry. "You never follow protocol."

"No. I don't follow orders." Harry contradicted.

"And this isn't and order?"

"No." Harry said firmly. "We don't want to wound their ego, and for the time being I think we should wait a little."

"Yes, and then we'll end up with another dead body." Diana retorted.

No one said anything to that. Their failure of catching the murderer hung like a dark cloud over them, and they knew that according to his patterns that it wouldn't be long until they would find another body.

Harry's cell phone interrupted the silence.

Harry dug up his cell phone, and answered tiredly.

"Harry Dwight."

His eyes widened, and his expression turned serious.

"Why didn't anyone tell me? I don't care, someone should have been on watch, it's protocol."

His face darkened as the conversation went on. Everyone around the table fell silent and observed him curiously.

"I don't care." He snapped.

"We'll be there in ten minutes."

Harry sighed after he turned off the phone.

"What was that?"

"Someone broke into Dr. Cuddy's house last night. The seal was broken."

"What?" They said in unison. That had never occurred before in their entire careers.

"Apparently the officer who was on watch had an emergency. He forgot to contact the other officer on call, so the place was left unguarded for about three hours."

"Damn." Jeremy muttered. "You think it was our guy?"

"Don't know." Harry muttered more to himself than to the others. He frowned deep in thought.

"I think we need to present our profile, and tell them exactly what we're up against. I don't think they truly realize what is going on." Flynn suggested.

"Do we even know what we're up against?" Jeremy muttered, and toyed with his straw.

"Yeah we do, but they don't." Diana murmured.

They paid for their breakfast, and headed to the station, where they met the image of equally tired officers, and police detectives.

They met Bill Anderson in the hallway; he seemed utterly overwhelmed by the entire situation, and kept barking orders in between their conversation. His small blue eyes peered at them, as they explained what they intended to do.

"You want to talk to the entire force? Well good luck with that." He sipped his coffee, his eyes darting towards a young officer.

"Harley, aren't you supposed to be on the search team?"

"You told me to stay here." The officer said exasperatedly.

"I did?" Anderson touched his mustache thoughtfully.

"Then why are you standing there like a moron? Get back to work." He shooed him off, the poor man almost yelped, and hurried away from Anderson.

"So, you were saying?" Anderson addressed Flynn who had presented their request.

"I think it's necessary when it comes to the investigation. You need to know every detail, and during our previous investigations we find it highly effective." Flynn explained, his amber eyes never left Anderson's. He had the gift of persuasion, and wasn't afraid to use it when he needed to.

"Fine, be my guest." He caved, and waved them off. "I have important things to do." He scurried into his office, and shut the doors forcefully behind him.

"Wow, the poor man is not handling this well."

"Yeah, there's a different sound in him now than yesterday." Jeremy mused.

They shrugged, the conversation left their thoughts of Anderson to the task at hand.

The station didn't have big enough rooms to consist the entire force, but they managed to fit everyone in the main hall. They were kind enough to provide a projector, and they lined up in front of the white projection screen.

They didn't know how many people were situated in front of them, but they had literally asked for everyone at hand that was involved with solving the case.

That list consisted of police officers, forensic analyzers, police detectives, and search volunteers.

It was never easy to take charge off the Police's hands, since they felt like they were fully capable of dealing with these things, but the truth was that they lacked the insight they provided. Harry was never too keen on these meetings, although they were a necessity. He stepped in front of his team, and cleared his throat to silence the crowd.

"Hello everyone. In case you don't know, I'm Senior Special Agent Harry Dwight, and these are members of my team, Diana Raquel Martinez."

Diana grimaced when he used her full name, but nodded her head to the crowd.

"Jeremy Spencer, and David Flynn York."

Jeremy elbowed Flynn when he said his first name, the inside joke had not gone unnoticed by either of them. They had always preferred to use his middle name, and the rare use of his first name caused a reaction to the easily amused agent.

"We know that you've all had a difficult night, so we'll keep it as short as we can" Harry walked back and forth when he talked.

"We are from a special unit of the F.B.I., the Behavioral Science Unit, more known as the BSU. I don't know how familiar you are with our specialization, but basically we profile serious crime offenders, and try to figure out how they think. You might question yourselves, why that is necessary, by figuring out what the offender is thinking, we can figure out who he is and where he keeps his victims."

"We were introduced to this case five years ago regarding the mysterious disappearance of Amber Lanford, a 32 year old, she had been kidnapped from her home. We were called in because of the unusual nature of her disappearance."

The image of a pretty blonde appeared on the screen. The whole room fell silent as they watched the picture change of the smiling woman to a crime scene photo. Her blonde hair lay scattered over the pavement, her green eyes open, and wide, ugly bruises covered her pale skin. Her stark naked body was covered with stab wounds. The gashes were ugly and deep, the act of someone beyond evil.

"Six months later she was found dead, not far from her home. There were obvious signs of mutilation, starvation, and dehydration. Cause of death was internal bleeding. He took his time killing her, some of the wounds aren't too deep, which indicates that he could have tortured her for hours, before he killed her."

Harry took off his glasses, and placed them on the table before he continued speaking, his voice grave as he spoke.

"There was also as sign of sexual intercourse, post mortem."

There were audible gasps around the room, people speaking out in outrage.

Harry continued to speak over the crowd.

"People, if you would please be quiet. I know that this is very disarming, but let me continue."

Everyone fell silent, though some were obviously appalled by the horrific information.

"Few days after the discovery of Ms. Lanford's body another woman was abducted from her home. There was the same pattern as before. Three months later Leslie Anne Crane was found murdered."

They showed the picture of a young, handsome looking woman. After her three other pictures followed.

"Giselle May Sommerson, Heather Radcliff, Magdalene Grace Montgomery, all were captured and brutally murdered in similar fashion. One year ago Lilian Katherine Archibald was taken like the other victims. We have not found her body yet, and we hope that she is still alive."

The smiling picture of Lilian Archibald filled the screen, she held a daisy in her hand; her blue eyes were sparkling, and filled with laughter.

"Yesterday Dr. Lisa Cuddy was taken from her home, just like the other victims. What strikes us is that the murderer has never held two women captive at a time. Currently we don't know what it means, but we do know that it's a change from his pattern."

"What does that mean?" A female voice asked.

"Actually we have different opinions about that, we'll talk about that shortly, but first we're going to present to you our profile of the killer, so you have a clearer picture of the person we're looking for. Agent York will present it to you."

Flynn stood up, and walked over to Harry.

"I don't know how knowledgeable you are of serial killers, forgive me if I'm talking about things that are in your knowledge, but I want to be thorough.

Serial killers have been the topic of many studies, the newest and most accurate study of criminals was made in 2005, and there we have statistics of gender, culture, and age. Not all serial killers are white males in their forties. We do however believe that our killer is white based on his choice of victims.

We can't be positive on that, and we don't want to concentrate on his appearances, because frankly we can't tell by his offense how he looks like. There is no one who saw anyone enter or leave any of the victim's homes, which gives us a great disadvantage. So, I cannot tell you for sure how the man looks like, but I can tell you his psychological profile."

"There is no guarantee that serial killers are antisocial, in fact there are many that do socialize. They have jobs; they have spouses, and children. I do think that it's highly likely that he is not married. He likes to work alone, and he needs these women all to himself. They possess something he needs, or wants, but can't have. He has major issues towards women; whether it's someone they remind him of, we're not sure. They might represent some female figure in his life that had a great affect on him. Someone he longed for, or lost."

He paused on his speech, and took a sip from his water bottle.

"What I have noticed specifically about our killer is that he needs to tell us that _he_ is the one behind his work, and no one else. He leaves us little clues, and signs that are nothing but a game for him."

"He has serious issues with himself, which is why he breaks everything that reflects his image. He can't stand the sight of himself, whether it's remorse or something else. He's also highly organized and careful, which brings us to the question of why he took another victim when he still has a new victim. Here we disagree."

He motioned towards Jeremy who stepped forward.

"Agent Spencer here disagrees with my opinions. I believe that he has become overly confident, and needy for the thrill of killing. There is a specific thrill of having two people under your control. He feels completely empowered. That tells me that he will try anything he can to get his fix. He will become disorganized, his need taking over any rationalization. That gives us hope that he won't be as careful in disguising his moves. So far he is a ghost, there have been no fingerprints, fibers, or body fluids. Nothing."

He glanced at Jeremy, and placed his arm on his arm.

"Agent Spencer will now present his own theory."

Jeremy wrung his hands, and thought for a minute, before he began to speak.

"My theory is simple. I think we might be dealing with a copycat. I don't think our killer would become so irresponsible. I think that he's much smarter than that, which gives us a reason to think that there might be someone else. I think it's necessary to think about every possibility."

He glanced at Flynn who nodded his head in agreement, although Jeremy knew that he was confident that his opinion was the right one.

"Also one thing to think about." Diana stepped forward, her hands on her hips, her voice breaking the tension between her partners.

"There is possibly something that triggered our killers actions. We need to ask ourselves why he decided to kill someone that day five years ago. It's likely that Amber Lanford was not his first murder, but she was his first victim in this chain of murders, and we need to figure out what he was thinking. Why he chose that time, that day, that moment to kill that woman."

Diana left it at that, and returned to her place beside Harry.

"Does anyone have any questions?" Flynn asked.

About twenty hands shot up at the same time.

* * *

It was about two o'clock when the meeting was over. They all felt exhausted after the session, but thrilled that the meeting went beyond their expectations. Harry was summoned to a meeting with Anderson and Harris about the break in, so the three agents were relieved to have some free time for lunch.

They were deciding where to get lunch when Jeremy got a text.

"The first results are in."

Diana frowned, and peeked over his shoulder to see the message.

"So soon?"

"I sent a copy of one of the letters to the lab with a picture of a medical file written by Dr. House." Jeremy's explanation was met with condescending glares from Diana and Flynn.

"Jeremy, you can't just…" Flynn started but Jeremy caught him off.

"It was a match. His writing matched the writing on the letter."

"But that doesn't have to mean anything. So, he wrote her letters, he was her ex, it shouldn't mean that he did this."

"Uh, I can think of few. How about the fact that he drove into her house? He clearly had malicious, unresolved feelings towards her."

"Those letters were his apology. You're making conclusions from evidence that are not adequate " Flynn retorted angrily.

"I think we should just go talk to him and see what he has to say for himself." Diana said, and stepped between them.

"Maybe he has some information we don't know about."

"What about Head Detective Harris?" Flynn asked wearily.

"He'll just have to accept it."

Diana swept past them and headed for the stairs. Flynn and Jeremy glanced at each other, and shrugged off their disagreement, and headed after Diana.

* * *

The rain poured over the street, the large drops forming irregular patterns on the window that House sat by. The melancholic weather mirrored the feelings within him. He hadn't slept the entire night, his mind racing over the odd occurrences that had happened in his life. He had thought that escaping prison would bring a fresh start for him, but it turned out that it was not the case.

His hand found the white piece of paper that lay on top of the dining room table, its corners were torn, the paper wrinkled after a bad treatment. There wasn't much text on the paper, it merely said.

_Guess Who?_

_It's your turn now Dr. House_

The words taunted him, even though the text was pretty straightforward, House had reread it over and over again. It didn't go past him that the person behind Cuddy's disappearance knew who he was, and possibly knew the connection between them both. The thought made his skin crawl.

Then there was this whole deal with Elizabeth Archibald. Not only had she caught him completely off guard, but she had also given him insight into the whole case. He was positive that she knew more than she revealed.

He couldn't say much since he had hidden a very fundamental detail from her. His thoughts returned to that box full of pictures, and the missing picture. He couldn't possibly share that detail with a woman he didn't know at all.

It was all very disarming, and the horrible truth was that this was just the beginning. There were so many pieces that didn't fit in the big picture.

He couldn't see how that woman could relate to any of this. Sure, her sister was missing, but what on earth could she provide that could get him a step closer in finding Cuddy?

And that picture. Why was that picture missing? Had he taken it? If so, why?

There was a loud knock on his door. The noise startled him; he grabbed his cane limped towards the front door. He peered through his peephole to see who it was. He frowned at the blurry image of three unknown people.

He removed the lock and opened the door.

There were two men, and one woman, that were obviously professional.

He looked at them questioningly.

"Yes?"

"Dr. House. I'm Special Agent Jeremy Spencer, and these are my partners Martinez, and York. Can we have a word with you?"

One of them men said to him. He was tall and fit, with light brown hair and hazel eyes that told him that he didn't take no for an answer. The other two were more pleasant, the other guy even looked a bit apologetic. Unlike the other guy, he was thin and his ocher eyes held understanding, which reminded him all too well of a person he knew. The woman was tiny, but stood her ground beside the men, not the least intimidated.

House looked between them, and realized that his day couldn't get much worse. He wanted to slam the door in their faces, but he did not want to risk going to jail again. He nodded his head, and let them in. The three agents stepped inside, all professionalism. He paused by the doorway, inhaled sharply, and braced himself for what was to come, and closed the front door shut.


	13. Exposé

A/N: Thanks to those who read and reviewed since last chapter. This story is such a journey for me in finding my way in writing. So thank you for your continuous support.

I know that my updates are really irregular, and I apologize if I'm taking too long, but I'm a university student and need to spend my energy on my studies first and foremost. December will be mostly spent reading for exams so I won't be able to update for a while. I'll try to update the next chapter before exams.

Thank you for reading.

* * *

_**Chapter Twelve**_

_**Exposé**_

Cuddy felt like she couldn't breathe. She was starting to hyperventilate from the fear that was pumping through her veins.

Cuddy's eyes were squeezed shut; her hands were stiff down her sides, her fists clenched. Her heart hammered in her chest as she anticipated for what was to come. In her mind she prayed for mercy for that monster to spare her life. Heavy footsteps approached her, and she felt a rough hand grasp her shoulders. A tear ran down her cheek.

"Cuddy."

She opened her eyes to see whether she had misheard. She gasped when she saw who was standing in front of her.

"House."

She collapsed in his arms, and broke down. His strong arms were the only thing that kept her upright, and she refused to let him go. He was her lifeline, her very reason to go on. She knew that he would come. She knew it.

"You came." Her voice was weak. His hands encircled her like a lifeline.

"We have to go." He whispered into her hair.

She nodded her head, and slowly he helped her up. Together they walked out of the dark room and into the light.

Cuddy woke up with a start. She shot upright, and looked at her surroundings wide eyed. She felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest. In panic she looked at her surroundings frantically and realized what had happened.

It was just a dream.

Cuddy wanted to scream, and cry at the same time, but she was too exhausted to do anything. She felt weak, and tired. She hadn't had anything to eat or drink. Her tongue felt dry, and the little saliva she could muster did nothing to help her with the burning in her throat. Her stomach had stopped protesting hours ago.

She hugged her knees and tried to think of anything else but that dream. Instead her thoughts travelled to places she didn't want to go. The memory of the tall shadow in the doorway was burned into her brain, refusing to let go. If she closed her eyes she could see his broad shoulders, his dark hair, and eyes that were as dark as the night. He was the monster in the night, and she was stuck in this nightmare.

She could still feel the cold sweat run down her back when he entered the room, and hovered in the doorway, teasing her with his presence. She couldn't do anything. As he stood there she thought of all the horrible things he could do. Was he going to kill her? Rape her? Torture her?

Yet, he did none of those. Instead she saw a flash of light in the darkness, and then he was gone, and she was left with the horrible fear that refused to go away. She had never been so scared in her entire life. After he left she crumbled down and cried for, what felt like, hours.

She had tried to be so brave, but now she could feel her fears burst through the walls, and she couldn't stop it. She hated to feel so afraid, so helpless. She was always the one with power, the one who did everything with the sheer power of will.

He was trying to weaken her. Slowly breaking her down until she couldn't care less whether she lived or died. That was something she could not stand, feeling so vulnerable. She had to keep her strength up.

Merely the action of sitting up seemed difficult enough. Her limbs were stiff after hours of sitting. Still she managed to sit up and carefully she began to rise. Her legs shook, her breaths coming out in tiny gasps. Her state alarmed her. She had no idea how far come she was, how exhausted she truly felt.

She leaned her head against the cold wall and exhaled. One hand reached to the base of her neck where her hairline started and found the small clip. Slowly she pulled it out, wincing as it pulled the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. Once it was out she clutched it tightly in her palm.

A sudden revelation hit her, like someone had whispered the horrible truth in her ear. If she wouldn't attempt escape soon, she would die. Screw planning, she needed to take action. She had to take the chance.

A shiver ran through her at the thought of escape. What if she would get caught? But she would die anyway. She weighed every option in her mind, mulling over the pros and cons.

She looked at the clip, resting innocently in her palm, and made a decision.

* * *

House wasn't sure how to detect his situation. The room was small and colorless, the grey walls looming like a cage over him. Here he could think of every possible outcome of this situation. Either he would walk out of there, or they would lock him up for something he didn't do. With every passing second the latter option seemed more and more plausible. With a loud sigh he buried his head in his hands.

After the F.B.I. agents had entered his home they had asked him several questions, finally asking him to go to the station. He had decided to comply and come with them without resisting. He knew very well that it would only lead to even further suspicion on their behalf, and that was not what he needed right now.

Loud footsteps approached the door. It opened forcefully, revealing the tiny female agent. He couldn't remember her name for the life of him.

"Dr. House, I'm sorry we kept you waiting. Our supervisory Senior Special Agent Harry Dwight wants to personally speak with you."

"I feel so honored." He muttered sarcastically.

She didn't show that his remark bothered her and opened the door wider for the man standing beside her to enter. He glanced at her meaningfully before he approached House. The door closed, leaving them alone in the room.

"I'm SSA Harry Dwight." The man said gruffly and shook his hand. He didn't really look like an agent to House, more like an old mentor or a teacher. He could guess that he appeared older than he really was. Grey hair dominated the brown in his unruly hair that even put his to shame, and under equally unruly and bushy eyebrows were still grey eyes that focused on his intently. He sat down with a sigh, and wove his fingers together on the empty table.

"I've heard quite a few things about you, all very interesting to say the least." His tone of voice couldn't be more carefree, as if he was sitting over a cup of coffee chatting to an old friend instead of a stranger on record in a sorry excuse of an interrogation room.

"First things first. Do you know why you're here?"

House didn't say anything and stared at him pointedly. There was nothing he could possibly say that could help his case.

"We're not alleging you for anything Dr. House. I'm just asking you some questions, which I hope will help us with the investigation of Dr. Cuddy." He promised. Again, his comments were met by silence.

Harry Dwight sighed and took off his glasses.

"I'm going to be honest with you. I don't see a reason to talk to you. My peers think otherwise, and given the extraordinary evidence on your part, I must participate in this charade."

House was caught off guard by his honesty. He couldn't say he felt relieved by that; this could easily be a trick to make him speak.

"Then why are you speaking to me?"

"Would you rather want one of my peers to speak with you? He definitely wants to hear what you have to say, and believe me, he is not as tranquil as I am."

House pursed his lips, and leaned back in his seat. He seemed honest enough, but he was not willing to drop his guard.

"I'm also curious about your relationship with Dr. Cuddy."

"What about it?" He said harshly.

"Well, you obviously have history, and in my years as an investigator it has been proven that information that might seem unimportant prove to be the clues that lead us to the answer."

House leaned forward in his seat, placed his palms together, deep in thought.

"Why won't you just tell me what I'm framed for and get it over with?"

"Not much for small talk I see."

"Does it look like I am?" House snapped. He didn't even blink by his outburst and with an eerie calm he said.

"Tell me about Dr. Cuddy."

House's clenched his jaw, and cursed inwardly. He couldn't see how his feelings for Cuddy could possibly help them.

Delving into that well was like pulling out a wisdom tooth. Thinking about her brought up memories he wasn't ready to face. Harry Dwight was looking for an easy answer to a hard question. There was no simple answer to that. There was nothing simple about Cuddy and their relationship.

Harry Dwight gave him an annoying knowing glance that made him feel like a school kid in the principal's office. By that look alone House could tell that he did not take any bullshit.

"Dr. House, you can choose whether you answer me or not, but if you care about Dr. Cuddy at all, then you might want to start to cooperate."

"I have nothing to say of that matter."

"You were her employee for years, and by many your relationship was anything but informal." He pointed out sternly.

"We dated, we broke up, end of story."

"Dr. House, I am no fool. I have worked on this job for far too many years to know when people are hiding their pain. You care."

"So what if I care? What has it to do with the investigation?"

"I just want the truth. You can deflect all you want, but when we get out of here, we'll both be closer to the truth. I'm only interested in finding Dr. Cuddy, so if you want to lash out, and pretend that you're way too smart and important to speak to a burned out agent, then so be it." He put his glasses back on, and waited for him to speak.

"What do you want me to say? You honestly know that we dated, what could you possibly want to know?"

"You might be able to answer some monumental answers. Everything seems to point at you. Not only did you drive your car through her living room, but you also wrote her letters during your stay in prison, all of which might indicate that you two had some unfinished business."

"Hold on." House interrupted him. "What letters?"

"The letters you sent her during your stay."

"I didn't send her any letters. I had no communication with in prison." He clarified. Harry Dwight frowned, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Then why did we find a box full of letters dating from November of last year? All of which matched your handwriting."

"I can't explain that?"

Harry Dwight frowned, and stood up from his seat. He crossed the room, and opened the door. He whispered something to the guard and returned to his seat.

He threw two plastic wrapped papers in front of him.

House picked up the letters in puzzlement. Familiar script that was completely identical to his spread before him. He looked at Harry.

"I did not write this."

"This is your handwriting."

"I'm telling you. I did not write this." He said frustratingly.

"Can you prove it?"

House picked up one of the letters defiantly and brought it to his eyelevel. He went through every letter to look for any indication that this was not his handwriting. He couldn't help but admire the workmanship. Whoever did this knew what he was doing. He glanced between his own handwriting and the copycats writing, and finally he saw what he was looking for.

"There."

Harry leaned forward curiously and looked at the letter he pointed at.

"The sway of the 'G' is slightly more cursive than mine."

Harry picked up the letter, and peered at the script.

"I'm no expert, but I think you might be correct. How did you notice? It's barely visible." He said in amazement.

"Few things go past my notice."

"But this went through our tech lab. Experts, how can you know better than them?"

"I see things most people don't."

Harry Dwight laughed in disbelief, his grey eyes coming to life.

"So this is what you have against me? Beside the fact that she and I have a past." He said mockingly, trying to provoke some reaction out of the man opposite him. His eerie calmness made him uncomfortable.

"Like I said before, I don't think you're responsible for anything that happened that night. However, what puzzles me is that if those letters aren't from you, then who are they from?"

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of someone writing Cuddy these letters. If he had, then he had probably had his eyes on her for weeks, or even months. It made his skin crawl.

"That's why it's important that you're telling us the truth. If you wrote them, then we don't have to spend time and energy on something that won't bring us closer to finding Dr. Cuddy."

"I haven't had contact with Cuddy for over a year. I was in jail; I had no contact with anyone. I heard what had happened in the news."

"It must have been hard for you."

"You said that I was under suspicion." The obvious deflection did not go unnoticed by Harry, but House was relieved when he didn't take any note of it.

"Few of us believe that we're dealing with a copycat."

"And you don't."

Harry Dwight shook his head, his eyes peeking over his glasses, observing him without judgment or resentment.

"No, I don't."

Then why did they insist on talking to him? What did those letters have anything to do about their investigation? Harry Dwight was clearly leaving something out.

"What is really going on? Those letters shouldn't provoke any suspicion on your part. They don't point out that I have done anything."

"I needed to be sure that you didn't write them, because I think that they're obviously not from you."

House looked at him incredulously, feeling more and more frustrated.

"What do you mean?"

"I think our guy was deliberately leading us to you." He leaned forward speculatively. "Are you hiding something from me? Has anyone had contact with you, or have you noticed anything odd?"

The question caught him off guard. He thought about the box, the pill bottles, and the picture. That picture was glued to his mind like a tumor, he could see the dark room, the outlines of a figure in the corner, the light skin illuminating in the darkness. He could see her wide eyes filled with such fear that it ripped his heart in million pieces. Sweat formed in his palms as he thought of his options. He looked at Harry who looked at him expectantly. House was careful to keep up his poker face, and appear unfazed by his questions.

He thought over whether he should tell him about the package. If he would tell them then they would be on the right track, but what if _he_ would find out? Somehow he felt that he was being watched, and if he knew that he was working with the police, then there was no question that he was going to kill Cuddy. He couldn't risk that, even though it meant that he was in danger. No, he was not going to risk her life like that. He could somehow try to figure things out himself.

"No."

"You're sure?"

"I've been home for two days." He reminded him. That seemed to be satisfactory enough.

"One more thing. Dr. Cuddy's home was broken into last night. Is there a chance you know who would do such a thing?" He didn't say it with an accusatory tone, but House could tell the hidden message of his question. He was on to him.

"No." House said without breaking a sweat.

"Well then. I guess we're done then." Harry stood up, and waited for House to follow suit. With the aid of the table House stood up, his legs were shaky after hours of sitting. He glanced at Harry whose eyes darted to his leg, his brows furrowed, a sudden realization flashed in his eyes. Anyone could see that his condition left him in no shape to do what they believed him to have done.

"What happened to your leg?"

"I had an infarction that lead to muscle damage, the muscle was removed. It functions, but barely so."

"I see."

"If I could get my cane back, it would be much appreciated." He said with mock courtesy.

"Of course."

Harry marched to the door and asked the guard for his cane, which was retrieved to him shortly. He took the cane, and could barely hide the relief when the pressure was lifted off his leg.

"Thank you for your time Dr. House. If there's anything you remember don't be shy to give us a call." He took his card and handed it to House. He looked at his outstretched hand, but showed no effort in taking it.

"Believe me, there's nothing. I'm no longer a part of her life, so don't expect to hear from me again."

"Just take the card. There's no harm in that." Harry said kindly.

House glanced at it, and reluctantly took it out of his hand and shoved it in his pocket.

"We'll do our best to find her."

"Somehow I doubt that will happen." He said bitterly.

"Why not?" Harry asked curiously.

"They're all dead aren't they?"

"Yes." Harry admitted.

"I'm not going to keep my hopes up. It will only lead to disappointment and pain." Saying the words made this all too real, but he swallowed the pain.

"Yet, in the end, we all end up being in pain. You can be a realist, but nothing can prepare you for the pain that follows death. I hope you haven't given up hope, because if we don't hold on to something we're damned to fail. Giving up is the easy way out, and I've seen countless of times that those people fare the worst."

Why he was lecturing him, he wasn't too sure, but he felt like he could see right through him. It was as if he knew exactly what was going on, but how could he?

"Pain is inevitable, it's better to be prepared for it."

Stubbornly he set his jaw, and walked away.

The sun was setting by the horizon, painting the clouds in magnificent colors of pink and orange. House got a cab that drove to his house.

House wasn't sure whether he was relieved to be back home, the constant feeling that someone was watching him washed over him.

Once inside he turned on the lights, the warm lights pooling over the living room.

He desperately needed sleep, his body craving for rest, but his mind was on overdrive. He couldn't sort through this mess; his analyzing mind kept going through every fact, as if this was one of his medical cases. But this was far from the sick patients he treated. He was not going to play a detective and figure this out himself; he was in no position to act like he could figure this one out.

Yet, he felt the pull to pull up his marker and dot down the facts like he did at the hospital. He walked back and forth in agitation. Finally he gave up and marched to the wall. He tore down the large abstract painting that had been a graduation gift, and discarded it on the floor. He stared at the bare wall in front of him, twirling a black filter marker in his hand, the wheels turning in his head. He had to know the truth, if it would be the last thing he would do, the last puzzle. His heart overtook his brain and caved into his feelings.

Harry Dwight's parting words echoed in his mind, and guided him gently towards the wall. Timidly he began to scribble on the wall, then it became more urgent, desperate even, as if his frantic brainstorming would bring him to his answer.

As he wrote down he unconsciously made a decision. Miles away a similar decision was being made, both leading to consequences neither of them could fathom.


	14. Flight of Fear

A/N: I couldn't resist one last chapter before exams.

Due to the content of this story I'm not sure whether I'll post anything during Christmas time. I'm a mood writer, so I have to be in the right mindset, and Christmas is a time I want to spend with my family, not write about serial killers and such. I hope you'll understand. I will probably post before new year's.

As always, huge thanks to those who read and reviewed since the last time. I'm truly grateful for everything you have to say.

* * *

_**-Chapter Thirteen-**_

_**Flight of Fear**_

_Breathe. Just breathe. _

Cuddy thought to herself, wringing her hands together nervously. The open shackled lay by her bare feet. It had taken her longer than she had anticipated unlocking the locks, but with patience and sheer will she managed to unlock them.

This was only the beginning. She was far from freedom. Firstly, it was most likely that she was locked inside the room, and she doubted that a simple hairpin could help. The mere thought of what awaited her beyond that door made her blood run cold.

She debated what to do, her certainty before slid through her fingers leaving her afraid. She grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled as if the small amount of pain would knock some sense of reality.

She had gone this far by determination alone. She was a strong woman who didn't shy away from anything and she certainly was not going to give up now.

She inhaled deeply, and pulled herself up, forcing herself to face her fears.

She fumbled through the darkness, her hands following the wall. Her hand slid before her against the raw stone until she felt a smoother surface under her palm. It was cold against her skin, her hand gracing the handle. Taking a deep breath she pushed the door open.

She heaved a sigh when she passed over the threshold into the darkness. From the memory she could conjure up of the time when the door opened she could remember a pool of light surrounding him. She reached up but gripped the empty air. There must be a switch somewhere. Again she began to fumble. This time it took longer but eventually she found the switch and flipped it up. The light was blinding, making her recoil back, her hands shielding her eyes from the brightness. She should have known better, but the sheer thrill of leaving the room made her judgment falter. She had to be careful; she was treading down a very dangerous path.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light, but once they had she looked at the surrounding area. It was a very small space. She was probably situated underground, that much she had detected. An old wooden stair led upwards to the flat ceiling. There was no indication where it led to but she was willing to take the shot.

One foot touched the bottom step, then the other followed, causing a loud creaking sound. She squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her lips through her teeth to silence her quickened breathing. She prayed to god that he hadn't heard it, but there was no guarantee.

With slow steps she climbed up the steps. When she reached the top she examined the ceiling above her. There had to be a way out.

Her hands reached up, palms flat on the surface and checked for anything that could indicate a hidden shutter. She tried to push it up and much to her relief it shifted slightly. She tried harder, and with some effort the shutter moved upwards. She climbed up and almost banged her head in the meantime, yelping out loud. She clasped her mouth shut, her heart hammering in her chest. She realized that she was in a closet, the shutter hidden by a pair of shoes, and dirty clothes. She listened for any sound, and when she was sure that there was none she cracked the door open and peeked through the small gap.

It was clearly a basement. Old cardboard boxes stacked against the walls. Various discarded items scattered across the floor. Everything seemed like it hadn't been touched for years. A baseball bat rested by an old bicycle, the tires flat, and the iron rusty. There wasn't a soul in sight.

She had the disarming feeling that her escape had, so far, been far too easy. She half expected someone to creep up behind her, or hear loud footsteps approach her hiding place.

She was terrified of what would happen if she would get caught, but her drive overpowered her fears. She had to get out of there, if not for herself then for her daughter's sake.

She clenched her jaw and opened the door. She crouched down and slid on the floor, careful to hide behind a stack of boxes. Counting to ten she made sure that no one was there.

Spider webs trailed down from the ceiling; dust covered the top of the stacked boxes. There was no indication that a criminal lived there. She wasn't even sure what he was. He could be a man with fetish for kidnapping women, keeping them for years. He could be a rapist, or a sadist. He could also be a murderer who had thrill from keeping women in his keep until he would slaughter them. There was nothing that indicated any of that sort. It was just a plain old storage space.

Her eyes scanned the area and landed on the staircase out of the basement. Now she fully realized where she had been situated all along, under the base of the house, in the earth where no one could find her or hear her. It was a horrifying thought, knowing that if he would find her there was no way that anyone would be able to find her.

The adrenaline flowed through her veins as she stepped on the stair, but thankfully it didn't creak like the other one. This time she leaned her ear against the door and listened for any movement. Her hand fumbled for the doorknob, turning it silently then pushing the door ajar. She walked carefully into the room and closed the door behind her. Her eyes drifted over her surroundings, curious and vigilant at the same time.

The room was dark, and she had an obscure vision of the room. The walls were covered with bookshelves that lined in rows by each wall; green wallpaper was visible in between the dark wood, the paper old and torn by the edges. There were no windows to provide fresh air or light. She approached the bookcase and noticed that the books were all the same, the spines without a title. She didn't have time to snuffle around, her instincts telling her to leave the room as fast as she could.

She had an inkling that this was a place he liked to spend a lot of time in. The old furniture looked like it was cut from the 60's, the fabric of the sofa that was situated in the middle of the room by an old teak table. An old Persian carpet covered the floor. Old stains and dirt covered the red and green pattern. It seemed that the room used to have the purpose of a private living room, but was altered for more personal uses. The sour smell of cigarettes hovered in the air like an invisible cloud. It made her almost feel dizzy.

The mix of hunger, dehydration and the strong smell made her feel queasy, but she was able to ignore that discomfort and stumbled through the room.

An old typewriter perched on a table in the corner, a half written paper stuck out of it invitingly. She wouldn't have given it any thought if the half full glass wasn't perched on the table, half melted ice cubes floated on the surface of the clear liquid. It meant only one thing; her offender couldn't be too far away.

Curiously she examined the typewriter, skimming over the half written page, but recoiled by the first few sentences.

_My purpose lies on higher grounds by His bidding. Soon they will see what I'm capable of. Soon they will fall by my feet, begging for my mercy. They will pay for their prejudices and their diseased minds will be enlightened. Yes, soon my patience will be rewarded and they'll join me in this crusade. Together we'll be joined for eternity. _

She gasped and tore her eyes away. This was far beyond what she had ever imagined.

At that moment a great sense of apprehension hit her full force. She needed to find a way out, now.

The only door out was by the end of a bookshelf. Her heart thumped when her hand reached for the handle. The door creaked ajar, her eyes darting back and forth in fear. The hallway outside the room was bright, the promising of a new day. She poked her head outside and with great relief she didn't spot anything, so far so good. She reminded herself to just keep going.

She drank in the sight of the sun shining through the tall windows. The hallway was a complete contrast of the dark room. The walls were painted in bone white, the tall windows providing a nice view to a patch of trees hovering outside. She tiptoed over the hardwood floor, passing by the bare walls. She turned by the corner and was invited into a large foyer. The spacious room was completely empty, the floors covered with dust as if no one had lived there for years. No furniture was in sight, except for an old grandfather clock, half covered with a white sheet. The front door was merely few feet away from her, across the room, so close yet so far away.

She had two options, she could run for it, or she could look and see whether she was safe. The safer route seemed saner to her, so she carefully began to tread into the open area. There was no sound or movement in the house, and she prayed to god that she was alone. Once she had reached the front door she heaved a small sigh of victory. She peeked outside and much to her relief she didn't notice any sign of a car. She almost cried out with relief.

She grasped the handle and pushed the door, but it wouldn't budge. She tried again, but to no avail. Frantically she fumbled by the locker but realized that the door was locked from the outside. She couldn't get out.

In complete frenzy she ran to the next window and tried to open it, but it had been jammed shut. She slammed her hand on the glass in frustration, and realized that she could just break it. She looked around for something that could help her break it without hurting herself. She wasn't going to bleed to death in her attempt to escape. She looked around and saw nothing that could possibly help her. She ran to the living room but found it to be completely empty. There was absolutely nothing there. She would just have to use her elbow to break the glass. She darted to the front door and yelped when she saw the incoming van driving up to the house. The blood froze in her veins when it dawned to her that she was doomed. If he would find her she would be killed.

Her first instinct was to run and hide, and that was exactly what she did. She went for the staircase that led upstairs, ignoring the filthy carpet underneath her bare feet. She didn't care where she went and reached for the nearest door. Blindly she darted into the room and shut it behind her, letting herself slide on the floor. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing.

Panic rose in the pit of her stomach making her heart beat faster. The only thought that emerged from the cloudy mess was, you have to get out of there Lisa. That thought was the only thing that kept her going.

Just open your eyes, stand up, and get out of there. Her brain screamed.

Her eyes popped open, she fumbled for the switch and stiffened when she saw the sight before her. The room was small, probably intended as a guest bathroom but renovated for one purpose. It was as if she had entered his twisted mind, showing her all the horrible things he was capable of. Most of the walls were covered with photographs. In between the Polaroid pictures were handwritten notes, the script intelligible.

She stood up and took everything in. It was like watching a spider web unfold before her eyes.

Her heart thumped in her chest as she looked at the pictures. Most of them were of women, all huddled up in that tiny little room, fear and desperation flashed in their eyes. Their fear mirrored the feelings she felt inside, the raw and uncontrollable fear that took no end. She wasn't the only one.

She picked one of the photos; the woman was huddled in the corner, her hands on her knees, her face obscured with her long blonde hair. Slowly she picked up another one, and another one, the pieces falling into place. Every picture was of a female, everyone different in their own way, but all attractive.

She picked up a stack and flipped through them, the revelation hitting her full force. The last photo slid from her limp hands, the photograph dropped into a pile of others, the alarming image reflecting the horror she would face if she wouldn't escape. Green eyes stared at her dead and cold, the white skin almost grey in the photo, red curly hair pillowing around her sculpted features. The woman was dead to the world; the last thing she saw was probably the horrible face of the creature that stole her freedom, and eventually her life.

There was nothing peaceful about that death, the tragedy of that woman's last moments edged in the tightness of her lips, the small crease of her brow, the fear in her eyes.

Cuddy gasped, tears prickled under her eyelids, clouding her vision. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something oddly familiar, distinctive features she had completely memorized. She froze and fumbled for the photograph. She closed her eyes and inhaled shakily as if that would make everything go away.

Slowly she opened her eyes and stared at the picture of the man she hadn't seen for two years, but would always be present in her heart. His blue eyes stung hers, making her heart ache for him. She felt the desperate need to protect him from all of this. It was insane to think like that, as if he needed her to protect him when he was the one she should have sought protection from. But she didn't, because she had clung to the thought of him, and to her undying love for him.

Seeing the picture made her only realize that she was far from over him, her love for him blossoming in a fierce feeling of protection. She needed to warn him, to tell him that he was in danger.

Numbly she tried to find an escape, aiming for the wall she tore down a black sheet and found a small window. She glanced backwards when she heard a faint sound of footsteps coming her way. She pushed it out, the pane the window flying open. She climbed on the sill, swung her legs out of the window, her hands gripping the edge. She glanced backwards just in time to see the door handle move, she closed her eyes and let herself fall.

The air escaped her lungs as she fell on the ground, her legs hitting the grass. She rolled on the ground, and as quickly as she could she stood up. She cried out as pain shot through her leg, but she ignored it. The air was humid, the sun shining brightly from the sky. Without any sense of direction she allowed her instincts to overpower her and ran away as quickly as possible. She didn't know where she was running, and she didn't care as long as she escaped from that place.

She ran and ran, the muscles in her legs burning from the restraint. Thick patch of trees surrounded her, but the distinct sound of traffic led her forward. After about five minutes she could see the road ahead. Exhaustion overtook her and she stopped to for a breather, her heart drumming in her chest. Sweat trailed down her neck, her tank top clinging to her thin frame. Her head darted back and forth but there was nothing but the green flora and the humming sound from the road ahead.

She ignored the dizziness and her dry throat, taking small steps forwards.

Complete over exhaustion came over her, and the need to rest seemed to overpower her, but she had to go on.

Her breath was knocked out of her lungs when two strong arms grasped her roughly around the shoulders, one mouth blocking her airway. She screamed but no sound escaped through the firm hand that clasped against her mouth and nostrils.

"Where do you think you're going?" A voice whispered in her ear. She tried to fight him off, but she couldn't. He was much stronger than she was, and her feeble attempt to fight him off was no use. Her lungs were burning from the exertion, and her leg was killing her. Her vision blurred, the lack of oxygen making her feel dizzy. Darkness swarmed before her, her body going limp.

The last thing she saw was the bright sun floating over the treetops.

When she gained consciousness she felt completely numb over her entire body. Her heart beat faster when she became more alert, her hazy mind clearing with every passing second. She looked around in panic, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.

"No." She cried out, her voice cracking.

"No, no, no."

It couldn't be. She couldn't be in this room. She had escaped. It couldn't be true.

She stood up and tried to ignore the ringing sound when the chains hit the floor. When she reached the point when she was completely restricted from going any further, she fell on the floor and sobbed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and for the first time she felt something break inside her. The previous determination of escaping this place was replaced by complete desperation.

Everything washed over her like a wave, turning any living hope into a deadly realization. She wasn't going back.

Her one last chance of leaving was gone, and she was back to square one.

House was somewhere in danger, and she couldn't do anything to stop it.

Her head touched the cold floor, her tears trickling down, the small drops fading into the grey stone.


	15. Where is my Mind

A/N: Hello dear readers. I know it has been a very long time since I updated the last time, late November if I recall correctly, but the first half of December was really hectic and horribly difficult for me, so I didn't write anything at all.

Admittedly I haven't been very productive over the holidays, which was mostly spent eating lots of good food and lounging around enjoying these two weeks of freedom. I am slowly falling back into my schedule with school starting again and forcing my brain back into function.

I'm terribly sorry that I didn't spend any of my holiday writing this, but then again I never planned on finishing this chapter in the month of December, this was always going to be posted much sooner, but due to heavy workload I had to postpone writing this. This chapter is probably one of the most challenging yet. A part of this chapter has been saved on my laptop since last summer, so it's good to set this chapter free.

I want to thank you all for reading, and I hope you will enjoy this.

The title of this chapter comes from the song by _The Pixies_.

* * *

_**-Chapter Fourteen-**_

_**Where is my Mind**_

**_17.__ June, 1969_**

The bus drove swiftly through the small town. The rain pounded heavily outside, the sound of rain clattering on the roof drowned by the sound of cheer from the young boys that occupied the bus. The gloomy weather didn't taint the joy of summer break.

In the back of the bus sat a boy. His dark hair reached down to his dark brown arises that almost appeared black. His head turned away from the other kids towards the window. The street passed by quickly from the steamed window. He gazed down at his wool shorts and jacket that held the shield of his school. One of his socks had fallen from his knee to his ankle, down to the brown leather of his shoes. His father had given him the shoes claiming that they were the most expensive in the store, and that he should not forget that. He didn't.

He had been careful to brush his shoes, and press his clothes before leaving St. Francis, an All-Boys Boarding School. His dark hair, which he had unsuccessfully tried to comb back, fell into his face. In his lap lay a black book, where he kept his secrets.

His eyes darted to the laughing kids on the bus, the noise erupting through his ears loudly. He wanted to shout at them, but he sat still, biting his chin to prevent himself from screaming. His fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms forcefully.

He had a short temper, and when he had one of his fits he was better left alone. Controlling his impulses was not something he had mastered.

Finally the bus stopped, bringing a huge cheer from the other boys, but he sat still. The loud noise that followed the others was making him mad in the head, but he could take a few more minutes. The others ran out of the bus happily, and when the last one had stepped out he stood up and walked slowly down the row.

The rain had stopped, the sun taking over the dark clouds that were not far away.

He waited for his travel case in the shadow of the bus, far away from everyone else.

He watched parents greet their children, happily hugging and kissing them.

A boy ran past him, and into his mother's embrace. A girl stood beside them, laughing and chatting with another girl who looked ecstatic to be in her presence. Her orange summer dress reached her knees; her honey blonde locks flowed down her back in soft waves, a flower headband donned the crown of her head like a halo. Sky blue eyes sparkled with laughter, her soft lips parted as she laughed with her friend.

Natalie Rosenberg. That was her name.

She was his age, and the most popular girl in town. Her father was the mayor of the county, and her mother the social elite, famous for her extravagant dinner parties. But Natalie, Natalie was the beauty of the town. Her soft skin was pale like the leaves of a daisy. It made him want to attack it, and bite into it like an animal. He wanted to destroy that beauty, and watch her whither away like a dying rose.

His eyes drifted from her when he saw the bus driver throw his travel case roughly on the pavement. The sickening crack when it hit the ground made his ears ring, and he wanted to scream at the man. Instead he walked calmly and picked it up. He walked right past Natalie, her laughter ringing in his ears. He saw the vein on her neck pulse out to him, beckoning him to touch it, and tear it out with his claws. He deliberately slowed down. He smelled the shampoo in her hair as the wind tossed her locks to the side. He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes briefly, but he was soon dragged back to reality when he felt something brush against his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw a young man walk swiftly past him. He didn't say sorry.

When he was about to look back he saw that Natalie had already left. Angry, and frustrated he walked ahead.

His home was ten minutes away from the bus stop. Few drops fell from the sky, and soon it started to pour, he didn't run away, he simply allowed the rain to pour down on him and soak his clothes. His mind was overcome with thoughts of her. He walked past a pole with a mailbox the name _Miller_ painted on the box with black letters.

Their house was isolated from the others; the house was cradled inside a thick maze, the house surrounded by wild bushes and trees that hovered tall above. He walked up the gravelly lane to the front door, the red house towering over him.

He didn't want to go inside, and prayed to god that his father wasn't at home. Maybe he had been sent abroad, and wouldn't come home for a year like he did before. He cherished those calmer days, his mother's presence far more enjoyable than his father's, though he did prefer solitude. Thankfully his mother didn't mind, but his father however did mind. He used to chastise him for being different from other boys. He didn't understand anything.

He tried to brush away those infuriating thoughts and opened the door to his home.

He didn't expect the sight that met him. His usually bright home was dark and dreary as if it had been unattended for weeks. It lacked warmth, the walls cold and bare. At first he couldn't put his finger on it, but something was odd. Then he noticed the absence of pictures on the walls. Since he could remember those walls had been covered with family pictures and paintings his mother painted in her pastime. Those same walls were now completely bare and cold.

His brows furrowed, the wheels turning in his head.

He put his travel case on the floor, and walked into the living room in search for anyone. The room was completely empty, so was the kitchen, and when he was almost sure that he was alone he heard a small sound from the study. His father's study was a forbidden place to him, always locked when he was away, but now the door was slightly ajar. He peeked into the room and saw a sight he had never seen.

His father sat in his plush armchair, his usually poised demeanor disheveled, his hand clutching a cigarette tightly between two fingers. His dark hair fell into his face, the bangs obscuring his eyes that never left the open window. He was wearing a white tank; black suspenders supported his grey pants that seemed a few sizes too big. This wasn't his father. His father was poised, and strict devoid of too much emotion. Emotion was for the weak of heart, or that is what he told his mother when she had one of her fits. His mother was so fragile compared to his father, like a flower sheltered by a large mountain. His father was an army doctor, and was mostly overseas. He wondered how long he would be home this time, not that he cared.

It did occur to him to leave his father alone, but he decided to make his presence known to him just so he could ask about his mother.

"Dad?" He said softly. His father didn't look at him, but he knew he had heard him by the way he clutched the cigarette tighter between his thumb and ring finger.

"Dad, where is mom?"

He heard a sharp intake of breath. His father refused to look at him, and threw the cigarette out of the window. He took a sip of his brandy, not giving him a single glance. He could see his hands shake when he put the glass back down.

"Dad?" He asked, his voice small.

"Your mother's dead."

The blood drained from his face, his heart skipped a beat as he took in the information. His father looked at him for the first time, his eyes bloodshot and cold.

"They found her dead in the bathtub, her wrists slit. They say she killed herself."

The ugly picture sprung vividly in his mind. He could see her cold dead body in the bathtub, her nightgown clinging to her pale skin, her dark hair cascading around her, her eyes staring at him wide eyed.

He felt faint, the world swimming around him, the bile in the back of his throat.

"Why?"

His dad looked at him darkly.

"Because of you."

His father's face swam in front of him; his dark eyes the last thing he saw before darkness took him.

He woke up in his bed, the bright moon shining through his bedroom window. Confused at first he thought this had been a terrible nightmare, but soon reality washed over him and he fell back into bed. He wanted to cry, but he felt completely hollow as if there was no space for any emotion except hatred and anger. That night something changed inside of him, altering him forever.

The days went by, and he lay in his bed most of the time. His father didn't come to him until a week had passed. He took him to his mother's graveside. He put white lilies on her fresh grave.

When they returned home his father asked him to come into his study. He had never been allowed to enter his study, but he followed him nonetheless. His father's study was dark and gloomy, unlike the rest of the house. This was his space, his sanctuary and everything was in order and out of his reach.

He studied his surroundings curiously, his eyes examining the many book titles that covered the bookshelves behind his sturdy desk. Medicine had always been a fascination of his, his fingers itched to pick one of his books to read but his father would never allow it.

His father looked at him with a fixing glare. His father was tall, strong and handsome, his features strong and masculine, the epitome of control and order.

"Sit down." He ordered tersely.

He obeyed and watched his father walk over to the window. For what felt like hours he stood there never giving him a second glance.

Finally he started to speak, but the voice wasn't his. It was the voice of a broken man, a man that wasn't his father.

"You…" he started to speak but his voice failed him. He turned around, and watched him as if he was a monster not his twelve year old son.

"You're different." He remarked coolly. "You've never been like other people. Why can't you act like a human being and show some emotion? Why don't you cry for your dead mother?"

He didn't say anything to his father's accusations; his eyes were fixed on the plush carpet on the floor, his lips pierced in a thin line.

"Look at me boy." His father's voice erupted through the room.

"You're a devil, a demon that turned your mother insane until she couldn't take it anymore. Look-at-me." He barked and grasped his chin forcing him to look at him.

"She wasn't like this until she gave birth to you! You're the devil, you sucked the life out of her." His eyes were pierced the tears streaming down his face.

"You killed her." He cried out and grasped his shoulders shaking him back and forth until he lost his balance and fell on the floor. His father took him by the shoulders and raised him up.

Tears welled in his father's dark eyes, the pain he had shunned out, pain he would never experience. He stared at his father with fear, feeling so incredibly small compared to him.

His father was a giant and he was nothing but a small little thing, and with a single blow he could break him into small pieces. He hated to feel this small, this vulnerable, but there seemed to be nothing he could do against his father's wrath. The first blow knocked his head back; the second made him tumble back, the third one bringing him completely down. His father's strong hands slammed into him with full force, the impact knocking the breath out of his lungs. With each blow he felt his hatred, his fear and sadness. The only thing he did was to lie there and take every blow. Suddenly his father stopped, he saw him loom over him, a wrenched sob escaped his throat as he looked at his only son and saw what he had done. He took a step back and put his fist to his mouth. His eyes stared at him in panic.

"I'm sorry." He choked. "I'm so sorry."

He turned around and darted out of the room. He sat on the floor, the thick blood running down his nose onto the carpet, a nasty bruise was already swelling around his left eye.

With one hand he dried his nose, the blood seeping through his shirt, his eyes never leaving the door.

Maybe he was the devil, a being that poisoned his mother's mind until she went insane. She had always had problems. She took pills to make her feel better, and sometimes it helped, but the illness was always there and she would change from a loving and doting mother into a depressed woman without any hope.

Maybe he had killed his mother. Surprisingly he accepted that, it seemed that everything beautiful he touched was destroyed.

The rest of the summer was a haze, a living nightmare, but one day the fog shifted and he felt like he was entering a dream. He had seen her through his window, her blonde locks flying in the air as she ran. Her blue dress twirled around her, her hand rose in the air in greeting to someone he couldn't see.

How he wanted to go down and touch those golden locks. He wanted to kiss those rosy lips until she couldn't breathe, and devour her until there was nothing left. The feeling flowed through his veins like a potion, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He watched her in daze, like an animal watching its prey.

As he watched her he had a revelation. She was going to be his, forever.

The bark of a dog woke him out of his dream; the creature was strapped to the fence, his barks driving her away and out of his sight.

He marched downstairs and into the kitchen where he grabbed a knife from the knife stand, and opened the door into their garden. The dog kept barking, the noise making him mad.

He approached the dog, and looked into its eyes. He untied the leash and allowed the dog to run free. The knife felt heavy in his hand as he approached the creature, and grabbed the soft fur.

Without thinking he slid the knife through the beasts neck, the blood spattering on his hands, and clothes. The best howled, and tried to escape from his grasp. He slashed again and again, until the howls stopped. He dropped the knife and looked at the dead animal in front of him. He felt a strange release, the pain in his head drifting away, leaving him perfectly at ease.

He stared at his bloody hands and smiled.

The day after his father walked him to the bus station where his schoolmates waited for the bus that would take them back to school. His father barely looked at him when they said their goodbyes.

"I will be abroad for Christmas." He told him. "You will stay with your Aunt Jane and your Uncle Tom. You will do as they say and behave."

"Yes sir."

"I will see you then."

He nodded his head. The door opened and he entered the bus with the rest of the boys who gave their parents a one last hug before they left.

He didn't give his father a second glance. He sat down in his seat and looked at the window. He spotted her on the sidewalk. Her hand raised in a wave, her eyes tearing up.

The bus started to move, the last thing he saw of Natalie were her sparkling blue eyes staring directly at him.

As the bus drove away he thought of his father's reaction when he would see what he had done. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips until it faded into a frown.

Henry Miller watched the bus drive away, and turned around to head back home.

His mind was troubled and the entire way back to his home he thought of his son.

As he approached the door he felt like something was amiss. He dismissed the thought as soon as it came and entered the empty house. He didn't think of it anymore until he prepared dinner, and remembered to feed the dog. He walked into the garden and whistled for it to come to him, but he was merely met by silence. His brow furrowed and he walked farther into the garden and looked around for the dog but froze when he spotted something in the grass.

His eyes followed the red bloodstains that stopped by a furry heap lying by the trees. The blood froze in his veins, and timidly he approached the corpse. The animal was half rotten, its jaw open, brown eyes staring sadly up to the sky. Tiny worms squirmed in the open flesh that scattered over its entire body from neck to its belly. Flies hovered above like a dark cloud.

His hand lowered to his side, his hat fell out of his numb fingers onto the soft grass, tumbling a few inches away from his shoes. His mouth dropped open when he realized what he had done.

* * *

**_27. July, 2011. _**

She had been his prisoner for a month, and already she had started to give up, he could see it in her eyes. He could always tell when they had given up, there was as if something shut down, the light in their eyes dimming until there was nothing left.

She was a fighter. Her little attempt of escape had been a surprise, but nothing he hadn't enjoyed. It was amazing how much life was in her, and watching it leave her was all the more enjoying when he locked her away. It was such a romantic thought, almost touching freedom then losing it so easily, almost like poetry.

Yes she was worthy and he couldn't wait to see her face when he would finish her off.

His eyes stared at the black typewriter, his fingers flying over the keys, his thoughts poured through his fingers. He enjoyed writing, and writing down his longings made the process even more enjoyable. He wrote about everything, but mostly he wrote about _her_.

Natalie was his first one. He had been eighteen years old with no control of his impulses. He had changed so much since that day, he had much more control, dragging his killings so he could get the most out of them, but he regretted nothing. Killing Natalie had been the most enjoyable experience he had and would ever experience. It was as if he had entered a different void that had no sense of time. He was above the earth, in a room filled with ecstasy.

He could still remember her screaming when he slashed her throat, and the surprise in her eyes when she knew that it was he that it was he, the poor defenseless boy whose father abused him as a child, whose mother killed herself. He could write a whole symphony about that moment, every cry, every breath, and every feeling that sprung in him.

After she had taken her last breath he stayed with her and told her how he had longed for her and how she would be his forever.

He had touched her soft hair, looked into her eyes and touched her soft skin.

He stayed with her for days, until the smell became too much to bear. But he never left her, and she never left him, a part of her would always stay within him making him whole.

His next kill had been many years later, when his thirst for more became too empowering. Now his purpose would soon be fulfilled and he would leave this earth with the knowledge that he had accomplished his goal. They would stay with him forever and no one would be able to stop him.

The sound of his alarm clock drove him out of his fantasies, and back into reality. It was easy to lose oneself in daydreams, and he had work to do. He tore the paper out of the typewriter and put it on the large pile on his desk.

He walked out of his father's old study, and into the next room where he kept large monitors on the wall. He closed the door behind him and sat down.

He looked through the monitor, his heart singing at the thought of his prey.

Her dark hair fell in her face, her bony white hands clutched to her sides. She looked so disconnected from the world, all hope gone. She was on the verge of losing her mind, occasionally she would look up and stare at the walls, fear etched in her eyes and he knew that her time was almost up.

It was almost tempting to cave in on his impulses, but he had control. His time would come, but until then he must show patience.

He glanced at the other monitor and smiled to himself. The other one was still fighting, still holding onto the hope that someone would come and save her. How pathetic, he would never come for her, he would make sure of that.

It was exhilarating to know that he could possess such power. He was the puppeteer and they were his little puppets under his command. He could do anything he wished and that gave him such thrill. It was risky but it was also fun watching those F.B.I. agents wreck their minds around his work, though he made sure that they would never find him. That lawyer was a bother but he wasn't going to let anyone destroy his work. He had come this far.

He took a one last glance at the monitors, at the two women whose lives were in his control. Those two women that sat in each separate corner, neither knowing what was waiting for them, their time almost up.


End file.
